


Becoming Robin

by wordsgohere95



Series: Becoming Robin [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Abuse, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Dick Grayson, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt/Comfort, Origin Story, Self-Harm, seriously a lot of ANGST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-11-18 06:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 68,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11285538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsgohere95/pseuds/wordsgohere95
Summary: Just days after his parents murder, Dick Grayson is thrown into Gotham's Juvenile Detention Center because all the orphanages are full. There, he must learn to survive amongst abusive prison-mates, indifferent guards, and the special attention of one Nikolai Bolkov (OC). By the time Bruce finally rescues Dick, the child will have a long way to go before he is ready to take on Gotham's worst as the young hero we all know and love.This is the story of Dick Grayson as he makes his way from a traumatized, grieving child to Robin, the Boy Wonder. With some help from Batman, of course.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> This is my first fanfiction, and I’m really proud of it so please enjoy and review. (Cross-posted on FF.net)
> 
> Trigger warning: This story will contain some graphic descriptions of self-harm in several chapters. Please be careful and take care of yourselves.
> 
> Enjoy!

The office was orderly with everything in its exact place. Not that Dick noticed. No, his mind was far too clouded by grief and confusion. Three days previous his parents had fallen to their deaths. He had spent the time since in a small prison cell of the Gotham City Police Department as they decided what was to be done with him. From the small snippets Dick gathered, all the orphanages were full. Foster care, too.

So here he was at the Juvenile Detention Center in the same city where his parents had been murdered. Not that anyone would believe him about that. No matter how much he pleaded and ranted for someone to believe him, nobody would listen. Apparently, eight-year olds weren’t credible witnesses.

“This is the boy?” the lady behind the desk asked, interrupting Dick’s thoughts. He looked up. The lady appeared to be in her fifties with black, pin-straight hair tied back in an impeccable bun. She had cold, hard eyes that stared down at Dick dispassionately. She frowned in distaste, making the slight wrinkles on her face deepen. “Looks like a right convict already,” she snorted. “I’m sure if he wasn’t sent here now, it’d only happen in a month or two.”

Dick didn’t understand what she meant. Sure, he wore the pale orange, short-sleeved jumpsuit they had given him when he first arrived. But that was because they made him! On the left breast, it said “Gotham City Juvenile Detention Center” and his identification number, 38041940. His ebony hair was in disarray, and his blue eyes were red-rimmed. Tear tracks marked his face in deep rivulets. But he didn’t think he looked like any sort of a criminal.

The policeman that had brought Dick here said nothing, only stared impassively on as the woman made her comments and pressed a button on her desk. Moments later, two guards walked through the door to the office. “Take this delinquent out to the yard. Put his possessions in storage. After last meal take him to cell B21. Dismissed.” Each word was sharp and short.

The two guards grabbed him roughly by the arms and pulled him out of the room. They took him into the main lobby, then through a gated doorway into a maze of corridors. He stumbled along with them, trying and failing to keep up with their longer strides. They led him down many bare hallways. The walls, floors, and ceilings were all made of dirt-clogged cement. Spaced at regular intervals on each side were metal doors. Each had a letter and a number on them printed in large, black block letters underneath a small window. The windows each had a wire mesh embedded in them.

The guards finally stopped at a metal door at a T-shaped intersection of three hallways. They opened it and shoved Dick through. He stumbled and turned to look at them. “W-what––?” One reached out and grabbed the black garbage bag he had been given two days earlier to put his measly belongings in. The door closed in his face. Dick stared on in confusion. _What just happened?_ He turned around slowly to look at where he was.

It was a medium-sized yard outside. The whole ground was made of cement. Directly in front of him was a basketball court with many boys playing. To the left were a handful of picnic tables. Several boys were sitting on them intently talking while others were merely leaning on them out of boredom. To the right was an open space where some boys were doing Dick-didn’t-know-what. Surrounding the whole area was a large fence with barbed wire sitting menacingly at the top. Spaced at even intervals outside the fence were large, manned guard towers glaring down at the inhabitants of the yard. Several guards were stationed in between the periodic doors in the prison wall at Dick’s back.

Dick cautiously moved forward into the yard. Most of the other prisoners immediately turned to look at the shaking boy. Each wore the pale orange, short-sleeved jumpsuit that matched his own.

The large group that had been playing basketball were the first to approach. Dick didn’t know what was happening. He had never experienced anything like this before. He stared at the people approaching him. He was scared and didn’t know what to do.

He looked up at the lead boy, staring him hesitantly in the eye. He was probably sixteen or seventeen. Really big and muscular. He had a mean scar on his face diagonally under his left eye. Tattoos covered both his arms from his wrists to his shoulders. His head was shaved. Hard, green eyes stared out from under two dark brows. The boy was clearly dangerous. It was almost as if he exuded an aura of malevolence. Dick was immediately terrified of him.

On either side and somewhat behind him were two very large boys. The looked like they could be brothers, twins probably. They were around seventeen as well and had numerous scars each along every visible body part as well as multiple tattoos. They both had brown eyes and hair and were extremely well muscled. The two were brutes, and something told Dick that they didn’t have much for brains. They looked like they relied on the lead boy for that.

The lead boy gazed down on Dick in derision. He had a half-scowl on his face, as if he had sized Dick up and found him utterly lacking. “Well, well, well. Who do we have here, boys? Ain’t he a pretty one!”

Dick swallowed real hard as he stared up at the boy. “M-my n-name’s Richard.” He winced as he heard how heavy his Romani accent was. He had learned English several years earlier when Haly’s Circus first started touring in the US. His mother had said it was good to be able to speak to the spectators and customers. Even after all his time in the US, though, his accent was still very thick.

The boy lashed out and grabbed Dick by his left shoulder. His hand squeezed tight, making Dick cry out in pain and fear. What was happening? Why weren’t the guards doing anything? This boy was hurting him!

The older boy leaned close so Dick could see the malice in the boy’s eyes. “I don’t remember asking you, pipsqueak.” His fist landed in Dick’s gut, and the younger crumpled over, holding his stomach and coughing in pain. Dick would have landed face first in the ground had the boy not still been holding onto his shoulder.

The pain was excruciating, like nothing Dick had ever felt before. He struggled to wheeze in a breath. The older boy looked down on him in contempt. Dick struggled to stand under his own power again despite the pain, still curling an arm around him aching stomach. He looked nervously up at the boy who still refused to remove his hold on Dick’s shoulder. “Now look here, pretty boy. Here’s how things work here at Mini Arkham. My name is Nikolai, and what I say goes. You don’t do shit if I don’t approve. Behind me are my two lieutenants, Jack and Dan. Their orders are second only to mine, you hear?” The boy was apparently waiting for a response because he shook Dick hard until the boy cried out in pain and nodded helplessly. Tears streamed down his face. Nikolai snorted in derision and knocked the boy down with another punch to his already aching stomach. This time he let go of Dick’s shoulder, and the boy hit the ground with a cry of pain.

Dick turned his head to look at the guards that stood by the walls of the Detention Center. They stared on passively as the scene unfolded in front of them. Dick was about to cry out for help when a booted foot stomped down on his already bruised shoulder. Dick screamed and struggled to get the boot off. Nikolai only pressed harder until Dick stopped fighting and simply lay there with his eyes scrunched tight and tears running rivers down his face.

“Now don’t go looking to them for help, pretty boy. They don’t care what we do so long as no one ends up dead. Maybe not even then, depending on who it is. You’re the new meat here, pretty boy, which means you have a lot to learn. And I’d be glad to be your teacher.”

* * *

Dick was forced to sit underneath the basketball hoop. The first couple of times that the ball had gone through the hoop, he had dodged out of the way instinctively. Each time Nikolai grabbed him by the shoulder and punched him in the gut again. He was to stay put and let the ball hit him. Some short time later, he learned what else he was supposed to do.

One of the other boys had missed the ball when his teammate tossed it to him. It bounced away across the yard. The boy started to go after it. “Stop!” The boy halted and looked to Nikolai. Nikolai turned his gaze to Dick, who cringed under the weight of his eyes. “Let pretty boy go get it.” Dick looked up confused. He hadn’t been allowed to move until now. Was he now allowed to? “Well, pretty boy?” Nikolai growled, looking incensed. He started towards Dick.

As soon as Dick recognized the threat, he hurried up and after the ball. When he finally reached it, he picked it up and started back towards the court. He slowed as he got closer. Was he supposed to hand it to Nikolai? It wasn’t Nikolai’s team that had possession of the ball now, though, Dick didn’t think. But he didn’t know who on the other team to give the ball to. Nor did he think Nikolai wanted him to give the ball to the other team. But he desperately didn’t want to get closer to Nikolai.

His decision was made for him. Nikolai growled and stormed up to him. Dick froze in terror. Nikolai tore the ball from his hands and tossed it to either Jack or Dan. Dick didn’t know which was which. Nikolai grabbed him by his shoulder and punched him in the gut repeatedly until he couldn’t breathe. He sagged in the older boy’s grip, choking on what little air made it through his windpipe. Nikolai released his grip, and Dick dropped to the ground, moaning in pain. “Get back to your place,” Nikolai spat.

Dick didn’t know how he was expected to move. He could barely breathe, and his stomach was in too much pain to do anything. But when Nikolai made to grab him again, Dick shoved himself up with what little strength he had and hobbled at his top speed towards the basketball hoop. He carefully lowered himself to the ground, and clutched his stomach miserably.

The game went on for a good hour more. By the time it was finished, Dick had been hit on the head twenty-three times and had fetched the ball twenty-nine times. He had also been grabbed and punched eleven more times for various “misdemeanors,” as Nikolai liked to call them. Never once did any of the other boys speak up, nor did any of the guards stop it. The message was clear: No help was coming for Dick. For the first time in his life, he was on his own.

Dick was in more pain than he could ever remember being in. Physically, at least. He was still torn and grieving over the loss of his parents and his entire circus family. All he wanted to do was curl up and cry as he had been doing for the last several days. But it seemed he wasn’t even allowed that.

The game finally ended when the guards called everyone in for last meal. Apparently, it wasn’t called dinner or supper here. When the guards announced the change, Nikolai whistled twice, and the game came to a stop. The boy with the ball tossed it to one of the guards who was now standing nearby. The rest of the yard began to empty into the building. Nikolai looked to Dick, who was still sitting under the hoop. He didn’t dare move until Nikolai told him to. He had done that once before when he saw the ball roll away. He had been punished for that misdemeanor and then been sent after the ball anyway. Dick learned that it wasn’t the action that Nikolai wanted from him but obedience.

Nikolai finally turned around to face Dick. “Come here, pretty boy,” he called. Dick stood up and made his way towards the boy cautiously. He didn’t want to be punished, but he didn’t know what would trigger Nikolai. The closer he got to the older boy, the slower he moved until he came to a stop two feet from Nikolai. “Closer, pretty boy,” the elder boy cooed. Dick cautiously moved forward with several small steps. Nikolai reached out, forcing Dick to flinch from the imminent grab and punch. Only one of the two happened. Nikolai gripped Dick’s shoulder firmly and dragged him along. “Time for dinner, pretty boy.”

* * *

Once in the cafeteria, Dick was tossed to the end of the line while Nikolai cut in front and made his way to the counter. Jack and Dan followed behind. No one complained or even commented. When Dick finally got his meal––a pitiful looking plate of spaghetti with overcooked broccoli and a glass of water––he looked around for a seat. Most of the tables were filled, and none of the kids looked friendly. The ones that weren’t openly hostile refused to make eye contact.

Dick finally decided on a table on the right side of the room that was out of the way with only a couple of kids at it. He put his tray down and was about to sit when a large hand wrapped itself around his left arm. Dick turned to look. It was Jack or Dan. The boy merely glared at him, glanced to another table, and then returned to glaring at him. Dick followed his line of sight and saw Nikolai sitting proudly at the table in the very center of the room. Jack or Dan, the brother not holding him, was sitting across from him. Several other boys sat on the outskirts of the table, seemingly trying to stay as close to Nikolai as possible while still at a safe distance. Dick understood that he was supposed to sit with his tormentor and internally cringed in terror. But he obediently picked up his tray and allowed himself (as if he had a choice!) to be led by the fierce grip on his arm to Nikolai’s table. Jack/Dan shoved him towards Nikolai’s side of the table while he made his way towards his brother. The older boy sat down heavily.

Dick slowly made his way towards Nikolai. He sat down a good three feet from the boy, on his left, shaking visibly from the nearness. Nikolai made a tsk-ing noise, and Dick cringed. He scooted a little closer, not wanting to anger the boy more. Nikolai tsk-ed once more, sounding a little more irate. Dick shook as he moved within a foot of the boy, leaving just enough room for what would be comfortable personal space were this anyone else. Nikolai smirked and began eating his food. Dick kept his head lowered and his shoulders hunched over as he reached for his fork with his right hand.

Suddenly, Nikolai’s hand whipped out and crushed Dick’s right hand in his grip. Dick cried out in pain and tried to jerk his hand away. It wouldn’t come so he left it where it was, in Nikolai’s grip. Tears coursed down his cheeks from the pain. He whimpered helplessly.

“Did I tell you you could eat?” Nikolai asked under his breath.

Dick whimpered more and shook his head miserably.

“Then why did you reach for your fork? You weren’t planning on eating without permission, were you?”

Dick shook his head furiously.

“What do we say when we’ve been bad?”

Dick looked at him in confusion, the older boy’s features blurry from the overflow of tears in Dick’s eyes.

“You’ve done something wrong. What do you say?” the boy asked, becoming more agitated.

Dick hesitated. The grip on his hand grew impossibly tighter. Dick heard a pop and screamed in pain. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

His hand was released immediately. He cradled it to his chest with his uninjured hand and whimpered weakly.

“There. That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?”

Nikolai went back to eating as if nothing had happened. Dick only then noticed that Jack and Dan hadn’t touched their food yet. Nor had anyone at the table. Dick sat there miserably and cradled his hand to his chest as tears streamed endlessly down his face. When Nikolai was halfway through his meal, he made a circular gesture with his fork towards Jack and Dan. The two began eating. Moments later so did the rest of the table. Dick cautiously reached for him fork with his uninjured left hand. As soon as he saw the hand whipping towards his, he jerked his hand back to his chest and to once again protect his injured hand. Nikolai took a second to glare at him, half in anger, half in approval, before returning to his own meal.

Dick’s stomach growled the entire time. He hadn’t eaten since early that morning when he’d had a meager meal of plain oatmeal at the police station. And he didn’t know when, if ever, Nikolai was going to allow him to eat.

Once Nikolai finished, he turned to look at the boy cowering beside him. Dick quivered under the intensity of the stare but dared not look up at the owner of it. After a moment Nikolai spoke up. “You may eat now, pretty boy.”

Dick glanced up unsurely. Was this a trick? Would the boy attack him again? He didn’t know if the food was worth the risk of being harmed again. But then his stomach spoke up, so he cautiously reached for the fork. His hand was not grabbed, nor was his shoulder squeezed or his stomach punched. He carefully picked up some pasta on the fork and brought it to his mouth, half expecting to be harmed the entire time. He wasn’t. He continued to eat, constantly expecting attack. His stomach cramped with relief at finally receiving food.

After only three bites, a hand grabbed Dick firmly by the nape of the neck. He froze in fear. “What do we say when someone’s done something nice for us?” Nikolai asked with a cruel smile.

Dick whimpered out a “Thank you,” earning Nikolai’s glare of approval. Dick cautiously went to take another bite. No punishment ensued. He continued eating carefully. The hand never left his neck.

When he was only halfway done with his meal, the guards called a halt to dinner. Dick looked up in anxiety. He wasn’t done yet!

It didn’t matter.

Nikolai and the rest of the boys stood up. Nikolai looked down expectantly at Dick. Dick miserably picked up his tray of half-finished food and followed the elder boy to the garbage. He scraped off his plates into the trash and stacked the plates and tray on top of the bin.

Nikolai turned towards a door simply labeled D. Dick went to follow him, not knowing what else to do. Before he made it more than a couple steps, though, two guards he vaguely remembered from earlier grabbed him roughly.

“Where do you think you’re going?” one of them demanded.

Dick wasn’t given a chance to answer as he was pulled harshly towards the door labeled B. They joined the stream of boys heading into that hallway. At the door labeled B21, the guards tossed him unceremoniously in. Dick stumbled forward and caught himself on the foot of a bed. The boy on said bed glared up from where he lay. “Hands off my property,” he growled. Dick’s hands immediately flew up and off the bed.

The room was sparse with only two bed occupying the small room. They sat opposite each other with the heads of the beds against the wall far from the door. A three-foot space separated them. On each bed was a thin set of white sheets, a pillow in a white pillow case, and a rough-looking, dark blue blanket.

The boy on the bed on the right side of the room, the boy that Dick guessed was his roommate––or cellmate rather––looked to be fifteen at the most. He still gave off an intimidating air that had Dick instinctively shying away from him. The boy’s eyes were hazel, and his hair was brown. He had no significant markings or distinctive facial features. He was neither heavily muscled nor overly thin. He was rolled over on his side, having turned to face the wall in indifference the moment Dick’s hands had left his bed.

Dick moved to sit down on what he guessed was now his bed. It was hard and uncomfortable. He slowly removed the prison-issued, white sneakers. It was more difficult since he could only use one hand. His right hand still burned with the kind of pain he’d only ever experienced once, when he’d broken his arm falling off the trapeze in practice when he was five.

Dick was startled by the sound of the door slamming shut of its own accord. The lights all went out soon after. This only made it more difficult to untie his shoes. Once his shoes and socks were off, Dick pulled back the covers and lay down with his head on the thin, white pillow. He lay on his left side, facing the rest of the room and the door. He cradled his injured right hand to his chest.

His mind began to run over the events of the day, and tears began to course down his cheeks with renewed vigor as he realized this was his life now. He hadn’t done anything wrong, but somehow he had ended up here, in this horrible place, being tormented and beaten by a horrible boy. And he didn’t think his life would be getting any better any time soon. Nor did he take any comfort in the fact that his life couldn’t get any worse. It merely managed to make his tears stream faster.

His thoughts traveled farther back to the past couple of days and the greatest horror of his life. The images of the cell faded from his sight, and the big circus tent took its place. The quiet of the prison was replaced by the sounds of cheering crowds. Dick looked on excitedly as his _mami_ and _tati_ swung on the trapeze. He glanced up suddenly as he heard an out-of-place sound. The wires were lifting off the bolts securing them in place! His mother swung towards him. He was supposed to be readying to jump to her, but he was frozen to the spot.

Her arms reached for him.

The wires lifted off the bolts.

Dick stared on in horror.

His mother and father realized what was happening.

“Dick,” his mother whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.

“No!” he screamed out in denial.

Their bodies fell to the ground with a sickening crunch.

Back in his cell at the Gotham City Juvenile Detention Center, Dick sobbed aloud as the horrifying sound echoed endlessly in his head. He couldn’t stop the noises leaving his mouth. It was all too horrifying.

In one moment, his entire world had ended.

His parents were dead.

He had been taken away from the circus, despite his parents’ wish for him to remain there as specified in their will.

He had spent three days in a jail cell as the Justice System and Social Services tried to figure out what to do with him.

And now here he was.

He sobbed harder, trying to make it all go away. Dick was abruptly ripped out of his thoughts when a fist connected with his face. “Will. You. Just. Shut. Up.” Each word was accompanied by a punch to the face. The beating went on endlessly. Dick tried to get away, but there was nowhere to go on the small cot. When it finally ended, Dick just lay there in pain. He dare not whimper or sob or cry aloud. He didn’t want to anger his cellmate again. So he simply lay there, sobbing silently to himself and wondering how this horrible fate could have befallen him.


	2. Chapter 2

The blaring alarm startled Dick awake at an abrupt six o'clock. He jerked upright out of hazy nightmares he couldn't understand or fully recall. He dropped back onto the bed, groaning in pain. Everything hurt. His right hand burned with the very fires of hell. It was swollen and red with a deep purple bruise centered just centimeters back from his middle finger. His stomach ached in intense pain and hurt when he even breathed, never mind moved. His left shoulder was stiff and twinged acutely, making him hold it as still as he could. And his face, oh God his face. It felt hot and swollen and pounded in time with his heartbeat. He could feel dried blood caked to his face. His mind moved sluggishly. All he wanted to do was curl up in his uncomfortable bed and pretend that life didn't exist.

The blaring of the alarm refused to let him do that though. He heaved himself out of bed and blearily tried to get his socks and shoes on. It hurt so bad to do even that. Apparently, he wasn't allowed to kneel in the middle of the cell, though. A foot landed solidly in his stomach, knocking him back so that the back of his head smashed into the metal frame of his bed. He groaned in agony. His roommate said nothing. He simply walked out of the now open cell door.

Dick wearily shoved himself up and followed after the boy. He was shoved back and forth between the many boys as they all herded through a maze of hallways towards what Dick discovered was the washroom.

The washroom was a long, rectangular room with white tile covering the floor and walls. On the opposite wall was a mass of shower heads placed at periodic intervals. Drains were set into the ground every so many feet. On the right side of the room was a doorway through which Dick could see a room full of lockers. The doorway was surrounded on both sides by a row of sinks. Above the sinks on either side of the door were two long mirrors. The left side of the room was composed of stalls and urinals. Occupying the middle of the room were many rows of long benches.

Dick saw all the boys heading towards the room of lockers. He followed them. Everyone seemed to know which locker to go to. Dick grabbed the left breast of his jumpsuit and shrugged. He looked for the locker with a number that matched his ID. He eventually found it in the back corner of the room. He opened the locker, which had no locking mechanism. Inside he found a clean orange jumpsuit, exactly like the one he wore now, a new pair of white socks, white boxers, a white undershirt, and a white towel. There was also a bar of soap, a toothbrush, and toothpaste.

Dick looked around nervously. Boys all around him were undressing. Dick was uncomfortable. He had never been in any situation like this. His mom had always told him that nudity was not allowed in public. He couldn't run around streaking like he did when he was two. (How many times had he asked her not to tell that story? Now he could only wish he could hear her tell it, tell him anything at all.) But all the other boys were undressing, so he did, too. He put his shoes in his locker and placed his dirty clothing in the same laundry basket as the other boys did. He grabbed the towel and held it in front of him, embarrassed. None of the other boys seemed uneasy. Dick grabbed the soap and raced out to the showers, hoping to get this over with as fast as possible.

Dick picked a shower head in the far corner, as far away from the other boys as he could. He dropped the towel on a bench nearby and soaped up quickly. God, this was horrible. His hands shook with how nervous he was. He found he couldn't even enjoy the feel of the warm water on his aching body. At least he could feel the dried blood washing off his face. That was something.

Just as he turned the shower head off, a hand grabbed him by the nape of the neck. _Oh no!_ He was spun around and shoved into the wall. Nikolai's hand firmly held him there by his already pained left shoulder. His green eyes were cold, perfectly matching the smile on the boy's face. Behind him stood Jack and Dan, the two lieutenants. All three wore only towels around their waists.

Dick whimpered softly. Slowly, Nikolai raised the hand that wasn't holding him to the wall and ran the back of it tenderly down the younger's face. Dick cringed back from pain and fear. He had almost forgotten about how bad his face hurt. "What's this?" Nikolai crooned softly. "Something happened to pretty boy's face. He ain't so pretty anymore."

Dick was shaking in fear. It didn't matter that Nikolai wasn't harming him anywhere other than his shoulder. It didn't matter how softly the boy spoke or touched him. Nothing Nikolai did or said, Dick knew, could bode well for him.

He was right.

"Maybe I should help pretty boy feel all pretty again. Hm? Would you like that, pretty boy?"

Dick didn't know what Nikolai had planned, but he was terrified of it, nonetheless. "N-n–" he began to stutter.

The pressure on his shoulder increased tenfold and didn't let up. Dick screamed bloody murder. Everyone turned to look before quickly turning their eyes away. Dick didn't notice. His eyes had overflowed with tears, and he couldn't stop screaming. Finally, he broke. "Yes! Yes! Please, just do whatever you want!" he blubbered.

Immediately, the pressure released him entirely. Dick crumpled to the ground sobbing. His head rested against the wall behind him as he looked up at Nikolai through tear-filled eyes. He stared on horrified as the boy dropped his towel and grabbed his…his…a-and peed all over Dick. Dick sat there shaking in mortification, utterly appalled as the warm liquid streamed down his body and coated his skin. He cried through the whole shameful incident.

When it was all over, Nikolai bent down to grab his towel and tapped Dick roughly on the cheek. "There now. Pretty boy has a nice perfume to go with his new look." He stalked off, his two lieutenants following behind, leaving Dick quivering in the corner of the room.

The rest of the boys in the washroom continued on with what they had been doing as if nothing at all had occurred. After two full minutes, Dick shakily pushed himself up off the floor. He turned the water back on for the shower. But no matter how much soap he used, he couldn't make himself feel clean. He quit his efforts with a sob and turned the shower off. He dried himself off quickly and headed back to the lockers. At least he could get into some clean clothing.

On his way there he caught sight of himself in the mirror. His stomach was a mess of blacks, purples, and blues. Some of the bruises were clearly fist shaped, while others were just masses of color. His left shoulder, front and back, was an angry black-purple. Distinct finger marks could be made out. His right hand, as he already knew, was swollen, red, and bruised. What really surprised him was his face. The skin around his eyes and cheeks was very puffy and probably red from tears underneath all the blacks, purples, yellows, blues, and browns. Overall, he looked like a nauseous rainbow had vomited all over him.

* * *

As soon as he was done dressing and brushing his teeth, Dick was herded with the rest of the boys to the cafeteria. Dick got in the back of the line and miserably waited his turn. First meal consisted of runny scrambled eggs and burnt hash browns. It didn't matter to Dick, though. He was starving, and this plate looked like heaven.

After receiving his tray, he turned to look at the whole room. He clearly saw Nikolai and his table, just waiting for him in the middle of the room. The older boy waved him over with two fingers. Dick glanced at the other tables desperately, hoping that some magical event would stop his feet from moving towards the one place he didn't want to go. Nothing happened.

Dick sat down miserably next to Nikolai, much closer than he was comfortable with. He was greeted with a smirked "Good morning, pretty boy" from Nikolai.

Dick merely mumbled back a "Good morning," knowing that it was expected of him. He could do without a beating right now, thank you very much. He already felt like seven shades of crap, and he was sure after seeing himself in the mirror that he looked like it, too. He did not need to add to his current miseries.

Dick sat hunched over with his head directed straight down at the table. His thick black hair, still damp, hung in his face, blocking out much of the world. Dick used the curtain to safely look out at the rest of the table, only moving his eyes. It was just like it had been yesterday. Jack and Dan sat across from Nikolai and Dick. A wide space surrounded the four of them. A couple boys sat on the fringes of the table. No one besides Nikolai was eating. The difference today, though, was that Dick knew better than to reach for his fork without permission.

So, while Nikolai began eating, Dick took the opportunity to analyze everything around him. He hadn't been thinking clearly yesterday, new to the trauma of this unfamiliar life. He was still foggy and uncertain, in lots of pain, and plenty humiliated after the shower incident, but he found he was slowly growing accustomed to it all, however sad that was.

Jack and Dan, big brutes that they were, sat side by side, silent as ever. He still didn't know which was which, and by this point he doubted he'd ever find out, but he was able to pick up certain physical differences between the two that he hadn't noticed yesterday. The one on the left, for example, had a blocky jaw, droopy eyes, and a thin mouth, giving him an overall look that screamed "unintelligent," though Dick's _mami_ would have told him it's rude to judge others.

The boy on the right had a slightly narrower face and round eyes. His nose was bulkier and his eyebrows were very bushy. His face seemed almost too narrow to hold all the exaggerated features on it. Both of the brutes had extremely large ears.

Dick glanced at the rest of the table, but couldn't remember if these were the same boys as yesterday or if it was a new bunch. They all seemed very nervous and were barely talking, and Dick wondered why they decided to sit at this table. Dick had no choice. If he didn't sit here, Nikolai would beat him. But these boys, Dick was pretty sure, had a choice in the matter. Dick saw no good reason to choose to sit at this table, especially since you had to wait for Nikolai to tell you that you could eat. But then Dick noticed that although the boys at the other tables in the room were talking at a good volume, none of them were eating. And most of them kept glancing at Nikolai every few moments.

_My God_ , Dick realized, _he decides for everyone_.

Dick glanced at Nikolai, half in awe and half in instilled fear. The boy sat eating, completely content. His back was straight, his shoulders stood proudly, and his head faced forwards. He didn't look around or seem unsure of himself. Nikolai knew exactly who he was and exactly how much power he held.

Dick admired that, even if it was in this boy he was coming to fear and hate. Dick wanted to be strong like Nikolai was. He didn't want to be the one that everyone beat on. He didn't want to be the one at the bottom of the hierarchy. _And I don't want to eat last_ , he grumbled silently to himself when he saw Nikolai gesture to allow everyone else in the cafeteria to eat.

Dick didn't dare reach for his fork. He had learned his lesson yesterday. Once was enough.

Dick waited until Nikolai finished eating. Then he waited some more. The boy showed no signs that he was considering letting Dick eat. Dick became concerned. Surely Nikolai would let him eat! He was starving! The boy had to let him eat. To do otherwise would just be cruel. Nikolai couldn't do that to him, could he? Dick's stomach growled in protest. He wrapped his arms around himself as if to comfort it. Suddenly, Nikolai's hand came to rest on Dick's neck. Dick wanted to cringe in fear and shout in relief at the same time. Surely this meant he could now eat! Dick looked hopefully up at Nikolai, but the boy only stared ahead contentedly.

What did that mean? Was Dick allowed to eat? But Nikolai hadn't expressly told him he was allowed to eat yet. If he ate without permission, Nikolai would surely beat him. Dick didn't think he could take that just now. He decided not to eat, no matter how much he wanted to. Better to not eat than to risk Nikolai's wrath.

When the guards called an end to first meal, Dick almost whimpered. Nikolai stood up and waited for Dick to do the same. When Dick stood right next to him, his tray still full and untouched, Nikolai leaned down and whispered in his ear, "Good boy."

* * *

After first meal, apparently, was school time. The boys were divided by their age and put into the appropriate grade. Each grade went to its own classroom where all the subjects for that grade were taught from 7:30 in the morning until 4:00 in the afternoon. No breaks. _The only good thing about this_ , Dick thought, _is that I get eight-and-a-half hours away from Nikolai._

Dick had never been to a real school. Unless performing at one with the circus for a day when he was seven counted. It was impossible to go to school when you lived on the road. So Dick's mother had homeschooled him right out of their trailer. She had always said he was a very bright young boy.

" _All the moms say that about their kids, mom!" he complained. He was sitting on the green, floral-print couch-bench at the kitchen table in their trailer with her. The tan linoleum tiles that made up the floor in this area of the trailer were peeling up in some places, as was the tan wallpaper. The dark brown shades that covered the four windows in the living area no longer moved very well, if at all. The green rug that ran under the table and rimmed the pullout couch was worn and stained beyond "good use," as his mother liked to call it._

_But this was their trailer, their home, where they belonged. And Dick loved it._

" _Of course all moms tell their boys that they're special and smart," his mother replied to his protests. "But no mom means it like I do!" She then proceeded to tickle him until he no longer had the breath to laugh. All the while she told him, "You're my special boy, my little Robin. You're smart and funny and handsome and the bestest son a mother could have."_

Dick pulled out of the painful memory, quickly wiping away the tears that had escaped his eyes. He tried to focus again on the lecture the man at the front of the room was giving, but he really couldn't care less. He couldn't even be bothered to know if it was history or math that the guy was talking about. (Heck, he couldn't even remember the guy's name.)

Dick remembered that when he was little…in fact just a few weeks ago, back when he lived with his parents at Haly's Circus…he remembered that he'd always loved to learn. It didn't matter what it was that he was learning, he wanted to learn it. He had mopped everything up like a sponge, his mother had always said. He learned things faster than normal boys, he knew, because he was two grade levels ahead of where he should be for a boy his age. His mother had said that there was no reason to hold him back from learning more if he was ready for it. Dick had especially loved math. He was four grades ahead in math. His mother had sometimes had to actually force him to stop reading the math book and study other subjects.

He had been especially good with languages as well. He had a natural talent for them, his mother had said. It helped that they had traveled a lot to many different countries. His parents had been insistent that he be able to speak at least passingly with the customers. His parents' "complete immersion" practice had helped. As soon as they entered a new country where they would be performing for any length of time, they would start speaking only in that language. His mother would teach him from the school books, of course, but it really was their immersion policy that helped him the most. The entire circus had joined in on it, too, over the years. Sometimes Dick would go days without really understanding a thing anyone said to him. They would only switch to his native Romani if it was really important that he understand what was going on, like with safety measures, or to understand a word that he just couldn't grasp.

Dick was only half Romani, on his father's side. But he had been really proud of his heritage, and Dick's mother had supported him in that. Plus the fact that most of their circus troupe was Romani or part Romani. So Dick had grown up with that being his primary language. But since they had traveled all over Europe and North America, Dick could speak a good handful of languages with at least partial fluency.

Dick wondered where his zest for learning had gone. A few weeks ago, his mother had to pull him out of his math book by luring him with promises of acrobatics practice. Now he could barely pick his head up off of his folded arms as the teacher droned on about he-couldn't-care-less-what.

* * *

Eight-and-a-half hours later, Dick sat in his place under the basketball hoop once again. It was free roam, now. Which meant that all the prisoners were allowed to roam freely, so long as they stayed inside the gated and guarded yard surrounded by watchtowers. Dick knew that English was not his first or even second or third language, but he still thought that the Detention Center was the one who didn't understand the word 'free' here.

Dick was exhausted, physically and emotionally. He was tired from the lack of sleep and the nightmares he had suffered all night long, from the beatings and the pain and the starvation. He was tired because his parents were dead, because his world and his family had been taken away from him, because there was this cruel boy that seemed to live to torment him, and because he could no longer find a reason to keep going. His life was a living hell. Dick didn't know how it could get any worse, but he was sure that if Nikolai thought of a way, he would make sure it happened.

Dick was falling into a well of despair, one he had never known before. His life had always been untroubled and happy. He had been a carefree boy living a life of freedom and bliss. Now he was caged in a nightmarish prison, and his joyous world had turned to one of darkness and pain.

"Pretty boy, go get the ball." Nikolai's order shook Dick out of his thoughts. He ran to retrieve the ball as told, determined not to be punished this time. When he returned to Nikolai's side, Dick cautiously handed him the ball. Nikolai took it and grabbed Dick by the nape of the neck. Dick flinched instinctively but no harm came to him this time. Nikolai leaned closer so that their cheeks brushed each other and whispered in his ear, "Good boy."

* * *

Last meal couldn't come soon enough for Dick. By the time six o'clock rolled around and the guards called them in from the yard, his stomach was cramped with hunger, and Dick's head was aching from all the times the ball had hit him. On the plus side, he only had to be punished for seven misdemeanors so far today.

Dick waited under the hoop for Nikolai to give him permission to come. When he finally did, after waiting for everyone else to go inside first, Dick followed Nikolai dutifully inside. Once in the cafeteria, Dick waited for Nikolai's cue before walking to the back of the very long line while the older boy cut to the very front. Dick was the last to get his food, as he was sure was Nikolai's plan. Dick didn't even care what the food was. He was so hungry he would eat shoe leather at this point. He'd only eaten a tiny breakfast at the GCPD yesterday and half his dinner here yesterday, and he hadn't eaten anything at all today. Dick didn't know what he would do if Nikolai didn't let him eat now.

Nonetheless, he obediently sat by Nikolai's side while the boy, and then everyone else, ate. When Nikolai finally finished eating, he once again wrapped his hand around Dick's nape. Dick shook from hunger and pain and fear.

Finally, he could take it no more. He looked imploringly up at Nikolai from under his bangs.

The boy looked down on him impassively. One eyebrow rose in question.

"Please," he whimpered. "Please, Nikolai, can I please eat?" He had been reduced to begging for food, and he hated himself for it. But he was just _so hungry_.

The boy just continued to stare at him emotionlessly for a few moments more. Then finally, he smiled, self-satisfied. "You may eat now, pretty boy." His tone was an odd mixture of affectionate and smug.

Dick partially sagged in relief, almost forgetting who this boy was and what he had done to him. "Thank you," he whimpered. "Thank you." The scary thing was that, at that exact moment, a part of Dick was truly thankful to this boy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Graphic descriptions of self-harm start in this chapter. Please take care of yourselves.

It was getting to be too much.

This life.

Everyday was a brutal exercise in survival, and Dick was just a young boy, already traumatized and grief-stricken from his parents' horrifying death. His beautiful, happy world had been torn down. He had been forced much too early to learn of the horrors of the world. Dick had lived in a world with so many more people than just his two parents to love and to be loved by. He had been the baby of the circus, and he had been adored and coddled by all. He had never wanted anything more out of his life because he had had everything he could imagine wanting.

That world was savagely ripped away from him. He was given this one instead. This world where he was beaten and starved on a daily basis. Where public humiliation was the least of his worries. Where he had to plead with another boy just to eat the food sitting in front of him and desperately thank him if he was allowed that basic right. Where he had no control, no way to stop the madness.

He didn't belong here!

He didn't do anything wrong!

His only crime was watching his parents fall to their deaths. And at the tender age of eight no less.

Dick's new world was a testament to the potentials of brutality and savagery. Not a second went by when Dick didn't live in fear of the next and what atrocities it would hold for him. He tried to numb himself to what was happening, to not think too hard about what was going on. It worked sometimes. But most of the time, Dick was all too aware of what was happening to him. As the days and the horrors piled up on each other, Dick's mind began to grasp at anything that would hold him together when everything became too much.

Sometimes it was the firm hold of a hand on his neck, simultaneously terrifying and familiar, but always constant. Dick had never cared for consistency before. When he had lived on the road with his parents in Haley's Circus, everyday had been different and exciting. Dick had loved it. Everyday brought with it a new experience. But everything was different now. Consistency was now something he longed for. He couldn't help but need it now that his life was careening out of control. Sometimes the consistency of that firm hand on the nape of his neck was the only thing that held him together.

Other times it was the welcoming feel of the darkness around him, when he would disappear from the world altogether and escape, just for a short time, the terrors that awaited him when the day inevitably came. The boy that once lived in a realm of light now longed for the protection of the dark.

And still yet other times, it was the smooth cut of a blade––meticulously stolen from the razor of one of the older boys––through the skin of his forearms to form painstakingly ordered lines overflowing with relief. It was the feeling of ruby drops tickling the skin of his arms as they raced towards his elbows in a too-quickly-ending flow. It was the sense of control of just this one little thing, this one little source of feeling, in a world spinning dizzily out of his control.

* * *

Dick ghosted out into the yard after classes on his ninth day in Juvie. He stuck to the edges of the area, remaining in the shadows of the building. It certainly wasn't dark out yet, it being four in the afternoon. But the light was softer than it would have been at high noon. And Dick had learned over the past few days to use every advantage he could. He learned that if he stuck to the perimeter, stayed in the shadows, and tried to just blend into the background of everyone's vision, he could succeed to a certain degree. The orange jumpsuit obviously didn't help much, but since that was a constant here at Mini Arkham, it wasn't as much of an eye-grabber as Dick had originally thought it would be.

Over the past week, Dick had taken to creeping around. He stayed silent. He moved around in such a way as to make no sound, not even in the echoing hallways. He stuck to the shadows and crept along the perimeters. He made sure to never catch another's attention or give them any reason to look at him. He was a ghost in the washroom, the halls, and the yard. Most of the time, no one noticed him or paid him any attention. Even when he was only feet from them. Dick's mom would have told him he had a knack for it.

Sometimes he used the skill to stay under the radar of those that would beat him. But other times he would use it to steal something he needed or especially wanted. A change of underclothes or a towel when the staff "forgot" to provide him one for a day or more. An extra fruit from the cafeteria line when he was truly starving. And the razor blade he used when he felt the need for a little control, of course. One time he even managed to steal an extra blanket from one of the other cells right before lights out.

Dick's parents would have been greatly disappointed in him for how he used his ability. They had taught him better than that. But they weren't here anymore. If they were, Dick would never have been in this position in the first place.

The curious thing was that Nikolai took more pride in Dick's newfound skill than he did. For some reason, Nikolai liked how Dick could manage these things without anyone the wiser. For Dick, it was a survival skill. Keep out of the way and stay alive. Acquire the things he really needed once in a while. It was practical. But Nikolai always tracked Dick's movements with a careful eye. Dick could feel the pleased gaze on him at all times.

That was the only reason Nikolai had begun allowing Dick to stray during free roam from his regular position under the basketball hoop––because he was watching Dick and studying his every movement. If Dick did something Nikolai didn't like, he would still get punished for it. The only difference now was that he had to _go to_ Nikolai to accept his punishment. It wasn't a capture and harm situation anymore. No. Now Dick had to present himself to Nikolai to receive his punishment, becoming an active participant in one of the things he dreaded most about this not-so-new life.

Dick's thoughts were interrupted by the basketball rolling by a couple of yards away from him. Dick's gaze tracked it back to the court. One of the boys, Alex, was standing on the edge of the court. Alex was twelve, but a somewhat tall twelve with a sinewy build. He had blond hair, grey eyes, and freckles. He had been in Juvie for two years now, ever since he had shot his father in their house in the Narrows. Apparently, the father had been beating Alex and his mother for years before that night.

Dick knew all of this from his recent sneaking around. He found that if you are quiet and listen hard and often enough, especially if others don't know you're there, you can learn a lot about the people around you. Dick now knew who just about every person in Juvie was, what they did, and where they came from. Most important, he knew where they stood in the hierarchy.

Alex was somewhere in the middle. He wasn't quite near the top, but he was close enough to have the privilege of sitting at Nikolai's table once in a while.

Of course, everyone was above Dick, so it didn't much matter. He was screwed either way.

Alex apparently ran out of patience with Dick just as that thought ran through his head. "Are you going to bring it over, dipshit?" the boy called, looking angry and ready to come beat Dick himself.

After the shitty day Dick had been having, he didn't need that lesson in degradation. Out of habit, he looked over at Nikolai, who had been watching him even more intently than normal. The older boy seemed to be waiting for something from him; Dick couldn't fathom what, though.

When Alex started towards him with a single-minded intensity, Dick quickly looked away from Nikolai and grabbed the ball. He took it rapidly to Alex, who slapped him for his trouble and walked away. Dick instinctively put his hand to his cheek in reaction to the pain that swiftly flooded it.

He started to move back away from the court again. He quickly glanced again at Nikolai, who was staring back at him, as he walked. The look on the boy's face halted him is tracks.

Disappointment. It looked like Nikolai had been waiting for something, something that Dick was supposed to do. But Dick hadn't done it. It was strange. If Dick didn't do as Nikolai wanted, he was punished. But Nikolai wasn't punishing him; he was disappointed. What did Nikolai want Dick to do that could leave him disappointed rather than angry when Dick didn't do it?

* * *

_Dick walked into the large, colorful circus tent with his parents by his sides. The familiar pre-show noises filled his ears. The loud talking. The squeals of happiness. The screaming children. The fun music. There was also the smells of buttery popcorn and sugary cotton candy. Some of the smells from the elephants and lions and other circus animals drifted into the tent as well from where they were being kept out back. The air was heated from so many bodies being packed under the tent. The bright and colorful lights circled the arena as the show continued on. Dick loved it all._

_Dick glanced up excitedly at his parents. Dick's mom and dad smiled down at him as well._

_His mother had the brightest, happiest green eyes Dick had ever known. They were surrounded by thick eye liner, just as Dick's and his father's were, to accentuate their eyes for the audience when they were up on the trapeze. Her soft blond hair was pulled back into a tight bun with a red elastic to keep it out of the way. This highlighted the soft angles of her face that made her all the more beautiful. Her ears were pierced with shiny, golden studs. Her costume was primarily the same bright red that all three of them wore, but her shirt had a yellow-gold trimming around her slightly lower neckline and down the tops of her arms to the bottom of the short-sleeves. The shirt also trailed down lower and split into two at her waist to give her more maneuverability. Her tights were a slightly darker red than her top._

_Where Dick's mother was thin and graceful, Dick's dad was big and muscular. Well, big was relatively speaking. As acrobats, they were all slightly shorter than average; it just came with the job description. But compared to Dick and his mom, Dick's dad was_ _**big** _ _. His eyes were a deep brown. He had thick, ebony hair just like Dick's, and his face had much heavier angles than Dick'_ _s mom_ _'s did. His costume was composed of a red leotard with sleeves that went down to his wrists. At each wrist, there was a strip of darker red fabric that matched the color of his pants. The pants rose high on the side to make the top end in a V at his waist. Between the top and the bottoms, there was a thin strip of yellow fabric._

_As for Dick's own costume… Well, he thought he looked a little ridiculous. But his mother had just made them the new costumes, and she was very proud of them. He wore a red leotard with a high neckline that nearly went up to his chin. The top was sleeveless. On the chest, there were three yellow straps that Dick didn't see much purpose for. Over the bottom of the leotard he wore shiny, dark green pants. On either side of his waist, the pants went up higher, making the shirt look like it made a V at the bottom, just like his father's. Also just like his dad's costume, the very top of the pants was colored as a thin yellow strip between his top and his pants. And, just to embarrass him Dick was sure, his mother had put his initial, a black R, on his left breast in a yellow circle._

_Dick_ _'s mom knelt down next to him, putting one hand on his right shoulder, the other one going to caress the R on his uniform. She looked up into his shining blue eyes. "Are you ready, my little Robin?" her melodic voice asked him._

_He smiled at her excitedly. "Always,_ mami _!"_

_Dick_ _'s father then knelt down with them, hugging them both tightly. "That's my boy," his deep voice laughed. "You're going to do great out there, just like you always do."_

_Dick hugged them back, loving this moment of closeness they always had just before any performance. It always made him feel so warm and loved. "_ Te iubesc atât de mult _" he whispered, cuddling into their strong embraces. (I love you both so much.)_

" _We love you, too, Dick. We always will," his father whispered back._

_They stayed that way, just hugging and drawing on each other's strength until Grandpa Haley announced their act. (He wasn't really Dick's grandpa; that's just what Dick had always called him.)_

_Dick followed his parents out into the tent and climbed the ladder to the trapeze platform after them. He stood there, the familiar warmth of excitement flooding his entire body, and waved to the cheering crowds below. Dick looked around, as he always did, despite the glare. He loved to see the enthusiasm on everyone's faces. As he looked, he saw a very familiar and scary face. Tony Zucco. The man with the graying hair, the dark goatee, and the disconcerting, black eyes._

That's the man that threatened Grandpa Haley earlier _, Dick realized. He was afraid, seeing that man here and smiling cruelly. The sight terrified him._

_Dick grabbed at his mother's costume. She looked down on him in question. Dick pointed towards the frightening man. "That's the guy that I told you about,_ mami _. He's the one that threatened Grandpa Haley!"_

_Just as the last words left his mouth, Grandpa Haley's voice could be heard from below, and Dick's mom turned away from him. "Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, children of all ages! I present to you the fearless Flying Graysons, as always, performing their daring feats without the safety of a net!" The crowd went wild, and their performance music began._

"Mami! _" Dick tried to get her attention again._

" _Not now, Richard. It's time to perform."_

_As she said this, Dick's father swung out onto the first bar. After he had flipped back and forth a few times, to the amazement of the crowd, Dick's mother flew out to him. Dick stared after them nervously. They swung around in a beautiful performance, completely in synch with each other._

_As the performance went on and nothing happened, Dick's fears began to ebb. Maybe it was all right. Maybe everything would be fine. How could it not be?_

_Dick_ _'s turn was coming up soon. Right on cue, he could hear Grandpa Haley's voice coming from below once more. "And now, for the youngest member of this amazing family!" Dick waved to the cheering crowd once more, a smile starting to overtake his features. Dick timed his parents' movements along the bars, preparing to jump out to them._

_A noise sounded from above him. It was odd, out of place. He ignored it. His parents were coming closer. His dad had his legs wrapped around the bar, hanging upside down. His hands were wrapped tightly around his mother's legs. Her arms were outreached in preparation to catch Dick when he jumped. They were just reaching the bottom of their swing._

_That noise sounded again, louder this time. Dick took a quick second away from his preparations to look up to find the source of that noise. He quickly saw that the nuts that usually held the wires down were gone and that the wires were lifting off the bolts._

The wires! They're coming loose! _Dick realized. He had been an acrobat his whole life. He knew what this meant. He just couldn't believe it. His parents continued in their upward arch. His mother looked up at him in pride, waiting for him to jump. She quickly saw the horrified look on his face, the fact that he wasn't ready to leap for them._

_They reached the apex of their swing. The force from the grand swing accompanied by his parents combined weight ripped the wires off the bolts supporting them. Dick stared on, uncomprehending. His mother gasped in horror, quickly followed by his father. They began to fall._

" _Dick," his_ mami _gasped, still reaching out to him._

" _ **NO!**_ _" Dick screamed down after them, reaching out himself as if he could somehow pull them back up to him through sheer force of will._

_Dick looked on in horror as his parents fell to the ground with a bone-crunching_ _ **CRACK**_ _that could be heard even over the sounds of their performance music still playing, forgotten, and the million gasps from the audience. Dick fell to his hands and knees on the trapeze platform. Tears flooded his eyes and spilled over in a never-ending surge. He closed his eyes, not wanting to look. Not wanting to make it real._

_His head pounded with numbed denial._ _Dick forced himself to look again. To prove it hadn't happened. His parents lay there, unmoving. Dick broke his frozen stupor and hurried to the ladder. He scrambled down it and ran to his parents' broken bodies. He stood there, horrified by what he was seeing. He dropped to his knees in a pool of their blood. He fell forward onto their bodies and hugged them. He cried and begged and pleaded in Romani and every other language he knew for them to wake up, to just wake up. He stayed that way until a cop arrived and pulled him off of them, kicking and screaming and fighting for all he was worth._

_They never woke up._

* * *

Dick woke up once again to the feeling of being beaten by his cellmate. He curled into a ball to protect himself the best he could. His chest was heavy with the sobs he had been making while unconscious. His face was a wet mess of tears.

It was just so unfair, the injustice of this world. His parents had been murdered, and he had looked on helplessly. Every day after had been the same. Dick just looking on helplessly as his life spiraled out of his control. The grief. The starvation. The beatings. He was sick of feeling like this. So useless and helpless. He couldn't see how it was ever going to end.

The rain of attacks continued. A solid punch landed in a sore place on his side under his ribs. Nikolai had just beaten him there earlier in punishment for one misdemeanor or another.

For some reason, this was Dick's breaking point. A hit on a spot that he had been beaten in earlier that day. And all because he was grieving for his parents' murder in his sleep––the only time he was allowed to grieve for his lost loved ones. It just wasn't fair! It had to end!

Without conscious thought, Dick right foot kicked out uncoordinatedly but with all his strength. It landed as a solid hit. Dick's cellmate stumbled back in surprise. Dick glared at him from tearstained eyes.

He was tired of this, of everything. It was just too much for him to handle. He didn't think he could do it anymore. If he had his razor just then, he probably would have cut himself just for the relief of it all. But he didn't have his razor. So, with one last glare at the boy frozen in surprise, Dick turned over on his bed and huddled into his grief and pain. He curled up into a ball, thinking that if he made himself a smaller target, maybe, just maybe, life would just leave him alone.

His relative peace only lasted a second, though. Until the other boy overcame his surprise at being attacked back. "Why you little brat!" the boy exclaimed. Dick felt the boy grab him by the shoulders and drag him out of his bed. He hit the floor with a hard thud. The other boy started kicking him and punching him at random.

Dick balled himself up to keep safe. Every hit made his body flash with pain until he could feel nothing else. Out of pure fear and instinct, Dick lashed out at the boy. He managed to grab the foot that had been pulling back after hitting him. The boy stumbled, off balance, and hit the floor.

But Dick now knew better than to let it end there. If he stopped now, the boy would just attack again. He had to make sure this boy could never ever harm him ever again. He climbed on top of the boy and rained punch after punch on the boy's unprotected face. Each satisfying thud of a fist landing on its target earned him a pained grunt from the boy under him. Dick just kept punching and punching, ignoring the pain in his fists and the ache of his knuckles splitting. He had never felt so powerful in all his life.

The boy grabbed him again and reversed their positions. The boy only landed three punches before Dick twisted his body in the way only a trained acrobat could and pulled his legs out from under the boy. He kept them tight to his chest and then used all the force in his body to land a solid kick to the boy's sternum that sent him flying back. He smacked into the door with a satisfying crunch. Dick shoved himself up and started to kick the boy as hard and as furiously as he could.

All of his pent-up anger exploded out of him onto this boy. The boy couldn't move to get away. He was stuck between the door and Dick's unforgiving foot. Dick didn't know how long he beat the boy. But when he finally stopped, panting in anger and exhilaration, his cellmate wasn't moving. He kicked the boy once more, just to make sure. Nothing.

Dick moved away from the boy and laid down on his own bed once more. His hands and feet were aching from all the attacks they had enacted. Not to mention most of his body hurt from when the boy had attacked him. But Dick was strangely numb to it all.

From outside the door there was the sound of metal on metal and the turning of a key. The door opened, and two guards walked in. Dick sat up. One of the guards knelt by the unconscious boy and put two fingers to the boy's throat. He looked up at the other guard and said, "He's still alive. Let's take him to the medical ward." The other one nodded and glared at Dick. Dick watch as the two guards carelessly picked the boy up and left, locking the cell door behind them as they went.

Dick laid back down on his bed, feeling a modicum of peace for the first time in over a week. His last thought before he let sleep claim him was, _At least now I have the room to myself._

* * *

They were all out in the yard again for free roam the next day. Dick was in a foul mood. He was lacking on sleep. His body ached from the fight in the middle of the night. Nikolai hadn't allowed him breakfast this morning. And Dick's teacher during class time had slapped him for not paying attention. _It's not like he was teaching anything interesting_ , Dick thought angrily.

Dick's thoughts were interrupted by the movement of the basket ball rolling towards him. _Déjà vu_ , Dick though sardonically. The same as the day before. The ball bounced off his foot and rolled less than two feet away. Dick looked up at the basketball court. It was Alex, once again, who was at the edge of the court, waiting for Dick to bring the ball to him.

But Dick wasn't feeling particularly helpful today. It wasn't Alex's fault. Dick knew that. But this boy was just another hateful vexation in Dick's life. And Dick was feeling spiteful today. With the heavy, expectant weight of Nikolai's eyes on him, Dick looked down at the ball, then up at Alex, and back to the ball again.

He kicked it farther away from the court and glared balefully at Alex.

Dick had known it was suicide before he did it, but he still tensed up when Alex stalked over to him. As the boy got close, Dick saw him draw back his hand to punch Dick. Anger surged through Dick over the fact that he had been brought so low that this twelve year old boy thought he could just beat on Dick and take his good, sweet time about it.

Dick's fists clenched by his sides.

Without a second thought to the consequences of his actions, Dick rushed the boy and tackled him about the waist, a primal scream ripping out of his throat.

They hit the ground hard, but Alex's body cushioned Dick's fall. Dick straddled the older boy's waist and proceeded to beat him, concentrating his hits on the boy's face. Alex surged to the side, knocking Dick off him and onto the ground. Alex stood up quickly while Dick still lay on the ground. Seeing Alex's foot heading for his throat, Dick barrel rolled away several times. The older boy followed him. Still rolling, Dick brought his knees up slightly and tucked his feet. He timed it just perfectly so that his feet were under him as he rolled onto his front and used the power in his legs to surge to his feet in a graceful move. Without giving Alex time to react, Dick lunged at him again, throwing punch after punch. Some hit, some didn't.

Alex redoubled his own attacks, trying to hit Dick any way he could. Dick dodge almost every punch, relying on his flexibility and acrobatics to move him out of the way. Alex's fist flew towards his left side. Dick spun his body to the left, letting the fist glide past him. He continued the spin into a crouch, holding his weight on his left foot while his right one swept out and ripped Alex's legs right out from under him. The boy fell hard.

Dick quickly leapt to his feet and stomped on the boy's sternum. He heard a satisfying crack accompanied by an even more satisfying shriek of agony, which quickly died out into a pained wheeze. Alex lay there sobbing and gasping, trying to curl into himself without causing himself more pain.

Panting, Dick looked up from the blubbering boy to see the whole yard watching him in shock. He glared at them all. Until his gaze found Nikolai's.

Nikolai was staring at him with the same intensity he had yesterday. Dick didn't know what it meant, but he still hunched over in fear when Nikolai slowly headed his way. _Oh God! I am in so much trouble!_ Dick thought frantically.

He was frozen in place. He couldn't move, even knowing that Nikolai was going to punish him brutally over this latest misdemeanor. _What's Nikolai going to do to me for this? Oh God, he's going to kill me!_

Nikolai finally reached Dick, who shook in abject terror when Nikolai grabbed him firmly by the nape of his neck. Dick cringed as much as he was able, knowing this would be the most brutal beating of his life. Nikolai crouched down slightly so he could look Dick right in the eyes. Dick would have shrunken away from the intensity of those flashing green eyes if it weren't for the hand holding him firmly in place by the neck.

Dick waited for the pain to come.

It didn't.

"Good job, pretty boy," a very proud voice whispered in his ear.

* * *

The rest of free roam passed in a blur for Dick. Nikolai had left the basketball game, but only after having Dick retrieve the ball from where he kicked it. He had taken Dick aside for the rest of free roam, protecting him from the glares of the guards who now had to deal with another injured boy, courtesy of Dick.

"So how did it feel?" Nikolai's voice crooned in his ear. They were sitting on the same bench seat of one of the picnic-style benches. Dick looked up in confusion at Nikolai's words. "How did it feel to beat him? To hurt him so bad he can never hurt you again?"

Dick gulped, looking into Nikolai's extremely pleased eyes. He didn't dare lie, even though he knew the truth would greatly disappoint his parents.

_They're not here now_ , Dick reminded himself. _Nikolai is._

Nikolai's eyes bored into his own, seeking the answer excitedly. "I…I liked it," Dick admitted nervously, afraid of the words coming out of his mouth. Nikolai smiled. It encouraged Dick to go on. "The power––" he let the feeling flood through him again, washing away the bad feelings that still lingered in him––"the knowledge that I gained justice for myself, that I was finally the one in control.… I liked it.…More than I think I should," he added softly.

"There's nothing to be upset about, pretty boy." For the first time since he had met Nikolai, Dick thought of epithet as an endearment rather than an insult. Sure, it wasn't always, but at this moment, that is what it seemed to be. "He was going to hurt you, and you hurt him instead. That's how the world works. You attack before you get attacked. You act before someone acts against you." Nikolai fondly grabbed Dick by his nape. "You did well, pretty boy. You did very well."

The guards called them in for last meal just then. Nikolai stood up and motioned for Dick to follow. When they made it to the cafeteria, Dick started towards the back of the line out of habit. Nikolai's hand on his arm stopped him. Dick looked up in confusion.

"Follow me." Nikolai released his arm, and Dick followed the older boy, slightly disoriented by this turn of events. They walked straight to the front of the line. The person in the front, an older boy by the name of Vincent, stepped back and allowed Nikolai and Dick to cut in front of him. Jack and Dan stepped in behind them, coming from Dick didn't know where. Dick got his meal after Nikolai and followed the boy to their usual table.

They sat down in their normal places. As usual, Nikolai waited for everyone to get their food and sit before he began eating. Out of habit, Dick let his mind wander and tuned in to the other conversations in the room, learning as much as he could about the people here and the happenings of Mini Arkham. Both because he had nothing else to do and because the knowledge might save his life one day. But he wasn't able to eavesdrop for long tonight. After only a few bites of his own meal, Nikolai turned unexpectedly to Dick. "You may eat now, pretty boy."

Dick stared in amazement. This had never happened before. When he ate, if he even got to eat, it was after everyone else had already been allowed to do so. It was usually so far into the meal that he never got to finish more than half his plate. But now Nikolai was allowing him to eat almost immediately! After Nikolai himself had barely started. Dick glance around quickly, trying to see if the others were already eating, and he had somehow missed it. They weren't. He looked back up at Nikolai in confusion and amazement.

Nikolai smiled down at him. "Just you, pretty boy. Just you."


	4. Chapter 4

Bruce sat frowning in the cheap, wobbly chair, his hands clasped atop the shoddy, gray table. The room he sat in was dingy. The walls, floor, and ceiling were made of cement. Dirt and grime were caked into every surface. The lights hung from the ceiling haphazardly, and more than a few of them didn't work properly. There were no windows. Many square tables filled the large room with two chairs sitting across from each other at each table.

Bruce stared intently at the doorway through which he was expected the little boy to walk. A barred gate stood in the path with a bored looking guard standing on this side of it. It was nine o'clock on the dot, and visiting hours had just started, so Bruce was the only other one in the room so far. He was anxious to see the child he had come for. He couldn't imagine what the boy had been going through here. And considering that the child had just lost his parents as well, Bruce knew that his mental state was going to be fragile.

He still couldn't believe that social services had thrown the boy in here. It was outrageous! That child needing a caring environment after such a traumatizing event. He certainly wasn't going to get that in Juvie. Bruce truly regretted that he couldn't just whisk the child away today at this very moment. The legal process was taking forever, even with the mass of money Bruce had thrown at Child Protective Services, and he had only just gotten confirmation that he would actually be able to take the child in.

Just then Richard Grayson appeared down the hallway, accompanied by a none-too-happy guard. He was led to the gated doorway, which was opened and closed by the guard in the visiting room. Richard walked in, and the guard that had come with him disappeared back down the hallway. The child paused. He looked right at Bruce, probably inferring from the lack of others in the room that Bruce was the one visiting with him.

Bruce could clearly see the confusion and suspicion on the child's face. But that wasn't all that he saw. And it angered him to a degree that only the worst of Gotham's crazies brought out in him.

The eight-year-old's arms were covered in deep scratches and colorful bruises that stood out strongly against his semi-pale skin. His orange jumpsuit was wrinkled and ripped in several places, matching the disarray of the child's unruly black hair. Another bruise was currently blossoming on his right cheek. There was a faint, red mark on his neck. Despite all this, the child stood with his back straight and his shoulders squared. His head stood level, and his eyes flashed with purpose despite the confusion that currently clouded them.

Continuing to stare at Bruce, the child began walking towards the table. Bruce noticed a slight limp in the boy's step. His anger burned hotter, but he pushed it down. He couldn't afford to be angry and upset around the child. He wanted Richard to trust him and feel comfortable around him. He couldn't be emotional.

Richard sat down and continued to stare at him intensely. He seemed to be trying to figure Bruce out. Bruce decided to break the ice. "Hello, Richard. My name is Bruce Wayne." No response. The child just continued to stare at him, suspicion so obvious in his countenance. "I'm sorry it took me this long to visit you, but I didn't want to get your hopes up until I was sure the papers would go through." Nothing still. Maybe the boy couldn't understand English after all. Bruce had been worried about that.

" _Richard, numele meu este Bruce Wayne_." (Richard, my name is Bruce Wayne.) That got a response. The child's eyes widened and his pose relaxed from the stiff one he had previously adopted. The boy clearly understood him now that he was speaking Romani. He obviously had never learned English. That would be something they would have to address later on, when the boy was more comfortable living with him and Alfred. Bruce continued in Romani, " _I live here in Gotham, and I'd like to take you in as my legal ward_."

Richard's eyes got impossibly wider. Shock and confusion took over his expression entirely.

Bruce waited for a verbal response. None came. _Perhaps this is all a bit much for him. It is entirely unexpected from his view, I'm sure._ Bruce deduced that the child wasn't going to respond to much of anything he said, so he pressed on, " _I've been trying to get the legal papers to go through since the day after the accident. I only got confirmation of it this past week. Today is the first visiting day since I found out. It is going to take a little while to finish the process, and I am not allowed to take you home with me until then, unfortunately. As soon as it is confirmed, I'll come get you and take you to your new home_."

Bruce watched the child's facial expressions intently as he talked. The shock was a constant, but grief, confusion, and something Bruce didn't have a name for played on the boy's face as Bruce talked.

He still got no verbal response, but he no longer expected one. Bruce understood that this was all very trying for Richard. First, his parents had died in front of him, something Bruce personally knew could make you withdraw and question the very foundations of your life. Then, he was carelessly thrown in this place, where he had obviously received none-too-gentle treatment, judging by the visible damage to the boy. And now, a strange man was here and telling this already confused and distressed child that a stranger was taking him from this place and into yet another unknown future.

Bruce talked with, or rather _to_ , the child for a few minutes more. He told him a little about himself and who he was. He told him about how he lived, or at least how Bruce Wayne lived. (The last thing he wanted to do was drag this innocent child into the dark world of Batman.) He told him about the manor and Alfred and other inconsequential things. He wasn't sure how much the boy was even retaining, though.

He was trying to reach out to Richard and get him to talk, something Bruce knew he himself wasn't really good at. Give him any criminal off the street, and he'd have the guy babbling out every piece of information he had within seconds. But this was something else entirely. This required care and effort.

Bruce was emotionally withdrawn most of the time. He had a hard time relating and sympathizing with others. But that was why he was here. Because he could sympathize with this boy. This boy who had seen something that Bruce himself had once seen, and at the same age, too. Bruce could relate to this boy. Or at least, he could…would find a way to relate to him.

_Just maybe not today_ , Bruce finally decided. He wasn't getting anywhere with Richard today. The boy was too overwhelmed by everything that was happening. Bruce decided that it would be in his and the child's best interests if he left now and let Richard process everything.

* * *

" _La revedere, Richard._ " (Goodbye, Richard.)

The words echoed in his chaotic head as he watched the older man walk out of the room. His mind was reeling. None of this made any sense. This man, he called himself Bruce, wanted to take him in? To make Dick his ward?

Why? There had to be some ulterior motive. Who the heck was this man? The name seemed somewhat familiar––Bruce Wayne––but Dick couldn't place it. It was trapped in the murky areas of his mind.

The man had looked like a lawyer or something, impeccably dressed in an expensive-looking suit. His face had been the same carefully unemotional one that many lawyers held, his blue eyes determined and hard despite trying to look kind for the small boy that had sat in front of him. Underneath the suit, the man had had a large frame with muscles the clothing just couldn't hide. That meant that he was dangerous, something to be careful around. But the man had tried to act nice, to _seem_ nice. He acted as if he didn't want Dick to be afraid of him. And Dick just didn't know what to do with that.

He didn't know what to think about any of this. It was all too confusing. Dick couldn't help but be suspicious. The man wanted to take him out of here. That's what he said. But Dick didn't know what was going on, who the man was, where he was taking Dick, when or if he'd even be back, or why any of this was happening. It was too much. Dick's brain couldn't process it all.

But at the same time, some small part of him felt hope. If what this man had said was true, then Dick would be leaving Mini Arkham. He wouldn't have to stay here anymore. He wouldn't have to fight for his right to live every day. He wouldn't have to run the risk of starving constantly––not that Nikolai had denied him his right to food lately since Dick kept winning all of his challenges. He wouldn't have to endure this hellhole anymore. _I'm going to be free_ , he realized.

Two quick whistles sounded then from the left side of the room. Dick turned to look. It was Nikolai, sitting at a table with an older man. Dick had been peripherally aware of Nikolai and several others entering the room while Dick had talked with the man that called himself Bruce. But he hadn't been paying much attention since his mind had been left reeling from everything the man had said.

Nikolai wasn't looking at Dick––he was staring at an older, larger man that sat at the table with Nikolai––but Dick knew that he was expected to come anyway. Dick stood up and walked over to Nikolai's table. He stopped when he was a step behind and to the right of the older boy. Nikolai and the older man didn't stop their conversation, nor did they acknowledge his presence in the slightest. They just continued on talking in what Dick recognized as Russian. He only vaguely remembered the Russian he had learned a couple of years ago when a Russian family had joined Haley's Circus for less than a year. A couple phrases of respect and a random collection of words were all that he recalled now.

The man sitting proudly across from Nikolai was probably in his mid-forties. He had a large frame and plenty of muscle to throw around and the same intelligent glint in his eye as Nikolai did that meant that not only did he know he had power, but he knew what to do with it, too. Dick had quickly learned from Nikolai that this was a dangerous combination. The man's eyes were green, just as Nikolai's were, and he had very straight, chin-length, black hair. His eyes were cold and hard. Fear clawed its way down Dick's spine just from looking at them.

Dick shifted his weight onto his left leg to relieve the pain in his bruised right one, which of course caused a flare up in his left ribs. None of the pain made its way onto his countenance. Such a show of weakness was a death sentence here. It told others of his vulnerability, gave them a target to aim for in his next challenges.

Every day since Dick had defeated Alex in the yard a week ago, at least one but sometimes two or even three boys would challenge Dick. Nikolai oversaw all the fights. By defeating Alex, Dick had thrown the hierarchy into chaos, and now Dick had to cement his place in Mini Arkham. In less than a week, Dick had faced fourteen challenges. Each one was harder than the last as boys from higher positions deemed him a threat and challenged him. Dick took every one of them down, some more easily than others. But each fight left its own scars and bruises on him. Dick didn't live a moment without at least some form of physical pain now, not that he had much peace before all of this started either.

Luckily, Dick had been getting a lot of sleep. His cellmate had never returned after Dick had beaten him, so his nights were finally quiet and uneventful. (The other boy had probably been moved to another cell for his own safety.)

He was also getting consistent meals now. The more challenges that Dick won, the more Nikolai was pleased with him. The beatings for Dick's misdemeanors had greatly diminished. Nikolai only punished him when he went too far out of line now. Dick also got to eat at every meal, and he got to eat before everyone else, except for Nikolai of course. Nikolai had even allowed Dick a bite from the older boy's own apple one night after a particularly fierce challenge that Dick had managed to win through sheer force of will. It was a great honor to Dick.

Dick snapped out of his thoughts as he realized that the older man's eyes were now directed intently at him. He froze and kept his eyes down. Any wrong move and Dick was a dead man. He could feel the tension in the air around him.

"You are the boy my son tells me about?" the man stated more than asked in a deep, rumbling voice that held more than a bit of a Russian accent.

Dick didn't know what Nikolai had told the man, but he knew he was walking on thin ice no matter what was said. "Yes, _сэр_ ," (Sir) Dick replied in the sturdiest voice he could muster, still not looking at the man.

The man laughed. Dick could feel the man's eyes burning a hole in his own averted ones. "You know your manners. That is good. My boy tells me that you have great potential, that you would be a welcome addition to our family. Is this true?"

Their family? What did that even mean? Dick didn't have the faintest clue as to what was going on, but he didn't dare contradict Nikolai. That was a death sentence all its own. "Whatever Nikolai has told you, _сэр_ , I am sure that he has good reason to believe as he does."

He laughed again. "So very correct, aren't you, boy? You know to respect your betters. That is very good." The man said something in Russian then that Dick assumed was directed at Nikolai. He didn't look up to check. Nikolai answered back in the same language. The man stood up, and Nikolai followed suit.

The man held out his hand, and Nikolai grasped it. The man then pulled Nikolai into an affectionate, one-armed hug. They pulled back to rest their foreheads against each other. The man stared intently into Nikolai's eyes. "Прощай, сынок," (Goodbye, son) the man said.

"До свидания, Пахан." (Goodbye, Pakhan.*)

They released each other and separated completely. The man walked confidently out of the room.

* * *

As soon as Nikolai's father was out of sight, Nikolai turned and walked to the gated doorway, Dick following obediently behind him. The guard opened the gate, allowing them to pass, and closed it once they were on the other side. Nikolai walked with a self-assured stride down the hallways and into the yard outside. It was a Saturday, which meant that unless you had a visitor, you were kept outside from first meal until last. Rain or shine, it didn't matter.

Today, the weather verged on rain. Ominous grey clouds suffocated the sky, threatening one of the downfalls that happened quite often here in Gotham. It was dark outside from the lack of sun despite the fact that it wasn't even noon yet. The lamps that circled the yard were on, providing pinpoints of light in the darkness.

Nikolai walked, with Dick tailing behind, to one of the central picnic tables and sat down. He gestured for Dick to sit beside him, so Dick did. "Why did Bruce Wayne want to talk with you, pretty boy?" the older boy asked.

Dick looked at Nikolai in surprise. Nikolai had recognized the man that had visited Dick by sight alone. _This Bruce guy must be well known here in Gotham_ , Dick figured. "I'm not really sure," Dick answered truthfully, looking straight forward again as the meeting replayed in his head. The whole event still had him disoriented. "He told me he was filing papers to take me in as his legal ward." Despite the inexplicability and _implausibility_ of the situation, Dick found that he was adjusting to the idea. Becoming a little hopeful even. It showed in his voice. "He said he wants to take me out of here and give me a new home." Dick looked up at Nikolai with an optimism he hadn't felt in what seemed like a lifetime. "I'm going to have a new home."

Nikolai stood up abruptly. Rage burned in his eyes, causing Dick to cringe away. "You think you're going to have a home with him? You think that you'll have a family again? No! The only reason he took you in was for the publicity. You're just another charity case that he won't give two shits for ten minutes after you get there. You're just going to be bumbling around a big-ass mansion, lost, without anyone to care whether you're alive or dead." Nikolai's right arm whipped out and grabbed a stunned Dick by his shoulder, in the same place where he used to have a bruise in the shape of Nikolai's hand.

Nikolai pulled him close so that they were eye to eye, in an ugly, almost-parody of the affectionate position Nikolai and his father had held just a short time ago. "That man can offer you nothing compared to what I could give you! And you want _that_ shitty life!" Dick was abruptly yanked to the ground at Nikolai's feet. He struggled to get up, not understanding the rage Nikolai had been sent into. They had been talking almost pleasantly only moments ago.

A foot slammed solidly into his stomach, sending him sprawling. Dick's back flared with pain from the landing. Gasping to retrieve the air that had abandoned him, Dick shoved himself up and away out of pure instinct. If his challenges this past week had taught him one thing, it was that you were at your most vulnerable when you were on the ground. You had to stay on your feet at all times.

When Dick was back up, he turned to Nikolai, uncomprehending. _Why is Nikolai attacking me? This makes no sense._ He didn't have time to figure it out. Nikolai came at him again. He grabbed Dick by the shoulder and proceeded to punch him in the stomach with his left hand over and over and over again. The beating didn't stop, and Dick could only stand there and take it. Before long, he couldn't even do that. Dick's knees gave out from under him from the pain. He was left hanging from the hold Nikolai had on his right shoulder. The joint and muscles pulsed with fire, almost as bad as the pain in his stomach.

Dick couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He couldn't even see. He was going blind from the pain. His whole world was narrowed down to this moment in time and the agony that he could not block out. The entire time, Nikolai's angry voice came to him. He didn't always understand the words, but some made it through the haze of his mind: "…alone…worthless…pitiful…unloved…charity case…"

The pain went on and on, and that voice became his only point of clarity to hold him to this world. He clung to it, embraced it, because it was the only thing he knew was real anymore.

Dick's world tipped. Something solid was at his back now. More pain rained down from above, more haphazard and solid than before. The strength of the strikes increased tenfold, as did the pain that accompanied them. Every part of his body was being hit. Every part of him was being broken until he no longer recognized himself. Dick only wanted it all to end. He just wanted to end.

Everything finally stopped. Dick's mind could no longer comprehend anything more than that. Nikolai's cold voice sounded from close by. Dick clung to it like a lifeline. "You had a future with me, pretty boy. Now you have nothing." The voice disappeared, leaving Dick lost in the darkness. Something, many somethings, began to attack Dick's nearly lifeless body. Cold, wet little bullets assaulted him from above. Then darkness claimed him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Pakhan is the honorific title given to the leader of the Russian Bratva (Mafia). It is the equivalent of the Boss or the Godfather ("Крестный Отец" in Russian). I got this from the internet, not personal experience, so please tell me if it's wrong.
> 
> Also, my internet history is going to get me flagged by the government one of these days and all because I'm writing fanfics. :)


	5. Chapter 5

Dick hugged his arms tighter around his chest to ward off the cold. Gotham was going through a cold period, and the sun hadn't shown its face in days. It was freezing out, but the prisoners still only received the short-sleeved jumpsuits that they were given every day. Maybe if Dick was able to move around and exercise like the others playing basketball, he would be able to warm up. But he was forbidden from that by Nikolai's unspoken yet universally understood orders.

Dick couldn't play even if he was allowed to anyway. He was in far too much pain to move around like that. After six days in the medical ward, two of which he was unconscious for, he was kicked out, having been deemed "healthy enough."

He had massive contusions on every visible part of his body as well as deep tissue muscle bruising, which was especially bad on his abdomen. Several of his ribs were cracked, and his right femur was bruised. His left shoulder also burned with pain at the slightest movement, but the doctor in the medical ward hadn't bothered to give him an explanation for that. The back of his head supported a two-and-a-half-inch gash from where he had apparently fallen on it. It needed thirteen stitches, and he was told that he had a concussion. That fit with the fact that he was tired, had constant migraines, and couldn't think properly anymore. He was also nauseous and dizzy frequently, but that could also be because Nikolai had barely allowed him to eat more than a few bites every couple of meals since he was forced to leave the medical ward six days ago.

Since then, both Nikolai's public beatings and the other boy's challenges had increased. Even the smallest misdemeanor now gave Nikolai the excuse to punish him most severely. If Nikolai even _thought_ Dick was going to do something wrong, he would beat Dick. And the challenges had increased from around two a day to a minimum of four a day. The boys that challenged him now were higher in the hierarchy, too, which meant that they fought fiercer and more brutally than any of Dick's previous challenges. He managed to win each of the fights, but only just barely. Dick was almost positive that, whereas before Nikolai had allowed lower ranking boys to take him on, he was now encouraging the higher ranks to challenge Dick.

The worst thing of all, though, was that Dick had been exiled from Nikolai's table at meals. He was relegated to sit at a random table in the corner of the room. Nikolai only gave him any of his attention when it was to rarely allow Dick to eat. And Dick wasn't allowed to eat when Nikolai gave the signal for the whole room to begin. He had made that mistake the first day, and Nikolai had brutally beaten him for it in front of everyone. The other kids at Dick's table didn't talk to him or sympathize at all out of fear of incurring Nikolai's wrath.

After spending over a week in Nikolai's favor, this new turn of events left Dick feeling colder and lonelier than he had ever felt before, except for possibly those dark days right after his parent's deaths.

Dick wasn't sure how much longer he could stand all of this. He was reaching his limit, he knew, but he could do nothing about it. He had started cutting deeper and more frequently. He needed something to bleed out all the pain, physical and emotional, and cutting provided the necessary outlet.

Dick's eyes scanned the yard thoroughly from the shadows of the building at his back, wanting to be prepared for when his fifth fight of the day approached him. He knew there'd be at least a fifth today; it was too early for there not to be another. He'd had one fight in the washroom this morning, then two at first meal, and the fourth was just after they all were forced outside for free roam. Dick figured that it was now roughly an hour before last meal, and the fight would have to be soon or it would be during the meal, which really just pissed everyone off because then no one was allowed to finish their food. Except for Nikolai, of course.

One boy in particular looked like he was anticipating a challenge. His name was Todd Burns. He was sixteen, making him one of the older boys, but he was slim where most of the others Dick had faced were bulkier. Dick didn't let that deceive him. The boy wouldn't be seventeenth in the hierarchy if he wasn't an absolutely brutal fighter. He was also rumored to have been sent to Mini Arkham because he beat his younger sister to death just for the fun of it. That may or may not be true. Dick had found that some of the boys greatly exaggerated their own stories to improve their reputations. He had to have done something impressive, though, because he had a near constant spot at Nikolai's table.

Dick watched the boy intently. Todd was antsy; he knew something was coming. Something more than the basketball Nikolai passed to him, or more like pegged athim. The boy caught the ball out of instinct and looked up at Nikolai. Nikolai glared back. Todd dropped the ball and turned to search the shadows of the yard.

Dick dropped his arms to his sides and straightened up. This was it. He took a deep breath to steady himself and pushed all thoughts of pain and cold and fear out of his mind. Or as much as his broken body would allow.

He had to win the fight. That was a given. There was no other option.

He stepped forward out of the darkness so that the other boy could see him and the challenge could start.

Not that he wanted to fight. But the sooner it started the sooner it ended. Whatever the outcome.

Todd strode towards Dick, obviously gearing up for the fight. Dick stayed where he was, feeling the adrenaline course and trying to predict what the older boy's first move would be. Dick knew he was too injured and worn down to fight at his normal capacity. He couldn't move in and out of Todd's range quickly to make a hit and avoid the return blow. He couldn't use brute strength. He couldn't dodge out of the way like he could when he was uninjured. He had to fight smart, and he had to be careful.

Todd didn't waste time circling like some of the other challengers had. He merely stopped for a moment before flying towards the younger boy faster than Dick had thought possible. He went right in for the hit, aiming at the cracked ribs on Dick's left side. Despite Dick's best efforts to not advertise the weakness, it had become clear to many of the others that Dick had a significant injury of some kind there.

Todd was a lot faster than Dick had originally thought he was. He nearly didn't see the attack until it was too late. The fist would have connected, too, but Dick's body swiveled away out of pure instinct, putting an extra two feet between Todd and him. The action caused a flare up of pain in his ribs, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it would have been had Todd's fist made the hit. Dick ignored the pain and focused on Todd. That was the real danger here.

The older boy was already coming in for another attack. Dick jumped back, gritting his teeth against the flare up of pain from his bruised femur as he landed badly on his right leg. But Todd didn't stop there. The attacks came quickly, faster than Dick's mind could process. His body reacted automatically to the incoming dangers, but it was uncoordinated and slow from the abuse it had been receiving for nearly two weeks now. He tried to dodge, to spin out of the way, to block, to avoid the strikes any way he could. But he couldn't evade everything, and he was already covered in sweat and gasping for breath not five minutes in. One hit landed in the direct center of his massively bruised stomach. Another came down on his bruised femur. Dick barely avoided being hit with the full-on force of the unexpected kick aimed for his ribs; it still managed to graze him, pulling a pained grunt out of Dick. The onslaught continued without reprieve, most of the strikes being aimed at Dick's weak points. _It's like he knows where all of my injuries are_ , Dick realized.

Dick tried to get his own hits in, but his attempts were weak. Those that weren't dodged didn't seem to affect Todd in the slightest. Between the near starvation and the numerous injuries, Dick was lucky to still be standing, never mind managing a solid blow. He was weakening quickly, and he didn't know how much longer he could go without just collapsing. His body was already shaking with the effort to continue fighting.

But he had to fight back. Nikolai was watching.

Dick's muddled mind focused in on the sight of the older boy. He was overseeing the fight as he did for all the challenges. Dick met his eyes pleadingly, hoping for he-didn't-know-what. Whatever it was, Dick didn't get it. Nikolai only stared back in displeasure.

While Dick was distracted, Todd dealt a heavy blow to his left temple. Dick stumbled back, tripping and falling from the force of the blow. At the last moment, his natural acrobatic abilities, which he had all but forgotten since his parents died, kicked in. Dick twisted his body, ignoring the shooting pain in his ribs and used his right hand to propel himself into a one-handed back handspring. He stumbled on his landing and almost fell again, the blow to his temple having disoriented his already concussed head. Dick's vision wobbled in and out. His head pounded in pain. It hurt just to think.

Dick couldn't remember for the life of him what had put him in so much pain. Every part of his body hurt: his stomach, his leg, his chest, his head. Everything. He couldn't get enough air in. He was shaking uncontrollably. His thoughts just wouldn't order themselves. He couldn't figure out what was going on. He was scared and in pain.

_Where's Nikolai?_ the eight-year-old whimpered.

An arm suddenly grabbed him around the neck in a headlock. Dick struggled in the too tight hold, choking for air. A heavy fist connected with his side, aiming right for his kidney. Dick screamed in agony as the pain blasted through his muddled mind and reminded him of where he was and what was happening. Another strike connected with his kidney. And again. And again. Todd just kept going until Dick all but passed out from the pain.

The stranglehold around his neck released, and Dick dropped like lead to the ground. He was no longer being choked, but every breath screamed agony through his body. Weak breaths shuddered in and out of his lungs, and pain circulated every part of his body. Dick laid shaking and sobbing on the ground with Todd standing over him, the victor.

Through all the pain and torment, Dick realized that he had lost the challenge, his first loss. Terrified of what he would find, Dick's gaze shifted from where he lay to meet Nikolai's. The older boy's expression was one of distaste and contempt. Never before, not even when Nikolai had beat Dick on the day of Bruce Wayne's visit, had Dick seen that kind of emotion on Nikolai. And it was all directed at Dick.

It shook him to his core.

Nikolai was disgusted with him, _disappointed_ in him. In that one look, Dick could see that this was the end. Dick had finally done something that Nikolai could never forgive: he lost. Dick could never win back Nikolai's favor with such a failure hanging over his head.

Before there had been a chance, a slight one, that Dick could find his way back to Nikolai's side. But that was gone now. He could see that clearly. Because Dick had lost the fight. Nikolai would never take him back. The thought tormented him. He didn't want to remain in exile. He didn't want to leave Nikolai. Dick _needed_ Nikolai. He would do anything to please Nikolai. To get the older boy to take him back.

In his periphery, Dick saw Todd, who had been standing above Dick's fallen form, turn his back to walk away. Dick's eyes were still on Nikolai though. He didn't care about Todd. What he cared about was that Nikolai himself was now turning his back on Dick. He was leaving Dick there for the guards to take away, like so many other meaningless boys since the challenges started. A cold unlike any other invaded his body at the sight of Nikolai turning away from him. Despair threatened to pull him under for good.

_NO!_ Dick would not let that happen! Finding strength in the force of his will alone, Dick shoved off any ideas of pain and launched himself up, tackling Todd to the ground, a scream of determination ripping its way out of Dick's throat. The older boy, grunting from the shock, landed on his front with Dick straddling his back. Dick's fury gave him the strength as he repeatedly directed strikes at Todd's sides, aiming for the ribs, the kidneys, anything that would hurt the boy the most.

Todd rolled, throwing Dick off. Dick's acrobatic instincts took over once more. Using the ground as a spring board, Dick caught himself mid-fall and landed unsteadily in a crouch, but on his feet nonetheless. He immediately charged the older boy, who was still on the ground, and aimed a kick at his neck with the all the little strength he could muster. Todd curled up, clutching his throat and choking on air.

The fight was over. This time for good.

Dick turned around to face Nikolai. The older boy stared at him intently. Dick knew what he had to do, so pulled on his last reserves and plodded towards Nikolai. His legs felt like they were made of lead, and every step felt like it would be his last. Finally, he stood before Nikolai, and his strength gave out. Dick collapsed to his knees in front of the older boy. He was sitting on his ankles, and his head rested against his chest, his eyes down. "Take me back. Please, Nikolai, take me back," he mumbled, his body shaking from everything it had taken to get Dick to this point.

A finger rested delicately against his chin and lifted Dick's head so that he could stare into Nikolai's gaze. "What'd you say, pretty boy?" Nikolai asked him in a gentle voice.

Dick trembled in happiness at Nikolai's kind touch and tone. "I want to stay with you. I want to stay by your side. Please, take me back, Nikolai. I don't want to leave you. I want to stay," the boy begged. Dick wanted more than anything for Nikolai to be pleased with him again. He wanted Nikolai to make the pain and the cold and the loneliness go away. He wanted to be allowed to stay with Nikolai.

Nikolai said nothing. He just stared at Dick, analyzing the young child. When no response came his way, Dick feared that Nikolai was still displeased with him, that he was going to abandon Dick once more. And Dick finally broke down. Tears streamed down his face, and he was willing to say anything to make Nikolai keep him. "Please, please, Nikolai. I don't want to go. I'm sorry I said that I wanted to go with Wayne. I'm sorry that I wanted anything other than to stay with you. I know it was wrong. I want to stay with you. I don't want to ever leave your side. Please forgive me, Nikolai. Please take me back." Dick sobbed and sobbed as the words came out. He couldn't help it. Nikolai was going to abandon him, and Dick couldn't take it. He needed Nikolai. He didn't want to be alone again.

Dick couldn't see Nikolai through the tears, but he felt his warm hand wrap securely around the nape of his neck. Dick leaned back into it, wanting nothing more than to keep it there forever. "It's okay, pretty boy," Nikolai murmured. "You are forgiven now." Dick sobbed harder, relief and contentment easing his troubled mind and pained body. Nikolai knelt down to pick up the eight-year-old by his back and his knees, bridal style, and held Dick tight to his chest. "How about we take you to the medical ward, and I'll take care of your injuries." It wasn't a question, but Dick nodded his head against where it was rested against Nikolai's shoulder anyway.

Between the physical and emotional exhaustion, Dick couldn't find it within himself to focus on anything that was going on. He let the soothing motion of Nikolai's walking lull him into a near sleep. He felt so warm, so peaceful. He had Nikolai back now. That was all that mattered.

Soon he felt the thin cushion of one of the cots in the medical ward meet his back. Dick whimpered when he felt Nikolai's hands leave him. But the older boy was back soon enough, gently but efficiently applying salves and bandages to each of Dick's wounds.

Dick tiredly opened his eyes, which he hadn't realized were closed until now. He saw the bleary form of Nikolai standing over him. Taking care of him.

"Hush, pretty boy," Nikolai murmured. "You're okay now." It was only then that Dick became aware that he had been mumbling "I'm sorry" over and over again. He quieted down at Nikolai's words.

Dick's mind slowly cleared as he watched Nikolai work over him. Before he had been desperate and distressed. Now he was calm, clearheaded. The change reflected in his voice. "I don't want to leave you. I want to stay."

Nikolai looked up at Dick. He smiled and stroked the younger boy's hair. "I know you do, pretty boy. I want you to stay as well. You were to be my second-in-command. But that's not our choice right now." Dick frowned in concern at Nikolai's words. He wanted to protest, but the stern look Nikolai gave him stopped that line of thought. "Wayne is going to take you away in a couple of days. We have no choice in that. But I promise you, pretty boy, we'll see each other again." Dick nodded, not sure if he should be accepting or upset at what Nikolai had told him. "Sleep now, pretty boy. You've earned your rest."

Dick nodded and closed his eyes. He was asleep almost instantly, comforted by the peace Nikolai's presence brought to him.


	6. Chapter 6

Dick stood two steps behind and to the right of Nikolai as they waited for the guards to open the gate to the Visiting Room. They were both in a somber mood. Today was the day.

This morning at first meal, Dick had been sitting next to Nikolai, the same as he had been for the last two days. Then the guards came. They stopped behind Dick and pulled him forcibly to his feet. Dick had struggled. They were trying to take him away from Nikolai!

But Nikolai had known what was happening, and he told Dick not to fight. So Dick let the guards take him away, looking back at Nikolai the whole time. They took him to the Storage Room, where he was told to retrieve his trash bag of possessions, the few things he had managed to take with him from his first life with the circus.

Then he'd been taken to the wash rooms and was told to change. Dick was no fool. By this point he had known what was happening, and he was in a dark mood because of it. So when he opened the black trash bag, he had been disappointed to remember that almost all the clothing he had owned was in bright colors. There was nothing worthy of this near funereal occasion. He ended up in his wear-torn jeans and well-used, red hooded sweatshirt and a pair of dirty, white sneakers.

Standing next to Nikolai now, the clothes felt foreign. Dick couldn't tell if they were unwelcome or not. His old life seemed so far away now. He didn't know if he could still be the little boy who had played and joked in these clothes so long ago.

The gate opened. Dick took a deep breath and followed Nikolai out. Immediately, his eyes lifted to the suited man waiting for him at the same table as last time. Bruce Wayne was the same as Dick remembered. Professionally-styled black hair. Unexpressive, blue eyes trying to smile. Thick jawline and precise facial angles. Meticulous, tailor-made, black suit stretched across broad shoulders and hiding significant muscle mass. Potentially forced smile placed on the man's face.

Dick looked away and turned to Nikolai, who had yet to leave Dick's side. Nikolai was gazing back down at Dick. A small, sad smile formed on Nikolai's face just as Dick felt a comforting hand on the nape of his neck. "This is it, pretty boy. Don't forget what I've taught you."

Dick nodded, unable to talk. He was scared of this new future. And worried about what the unknown would bring. And anxious about trying to figure it all out without Nikolai to tell him what to do. And upset about leaving this second life, however difficult it may have been. He was just too overwhelmed right now by everything.

Nikolai nudged an unwilling Dick in Wayne's direction. "Go on, pretty boy. We'll see each other again."

Dick nodded again before turning away from Nikolai and walking towards Wayne. The man's gaze was glued on Dick, watching his every move. Dick could easily see the suppressed anger in the man's eyes and could only guess what it was about. Dick couldn't imagine he had done anything wrong already.

Wayne stood up as Dick approached. " _Bună ziua, Richard. Ce mai faci?_ " ("Hello, Richard. How are you doing?")

Dick just stared at Wayne, analyzing him. The anger in the man's eyes flashed stronger at the end of his words. Dick couldn't fathom what was pissing the guy off so much. Dick hadn't done anything yet.

When Dick said nothing, Wayne continued, " _Eș_ _ti gata s_ _ă plece? Mașina mea se așteaptă chiar în afara._ " ("Are you ready to leave? My car is waiting just outside.")

Again, Dick did not respond. It wasn't as if he had a choice anyway. Wayne, obviously not expecting an answer anymore, started to walk towards the exit. Dick gave one last glance back at Nikolai, who was now sitting at a table with his father. Their gazes met for one last moment before Dick turned away to follow Wayne. The man was holding the door for him, making Dick exited into the lobby first. Dick immediately turned so that his back was to the wall and he could keep on eye on Wayne. With the man trying to hide his anger about something Dick didn't understand, Dick didn't feel safe with Wayne at his back. That was one of the first lessons Dick had learned in Mini Arkham: never leave your back unprotected.

But the man didn't try anything, and they walked out of the building without incident. Outside by the curb was a long black limo. Dick stopped and stared. He had rarely seen a limo before. Once in a while, some people came to one of their performances in one. But Dick had only seen them from a distance. Looking up and down the street, Dick realized that this was the only car parked nearby, which meant that it had to be Wayne's.

_How rich is this guy that he's picking up some kid from Juvie in a limo?_ Dick wondered.

While Dick was just staring at the car, an older man opened the door to the driver's seat. The man was tall and thin, wearing an expensive-looking black suit with white gloves. His silver-white hair was somewhere between receding and balding. He had a long nose sitting atop a small mustache. His blue eyes were appraising Dick with interest.

"Ah, this must be young Master Richard." The man had a friendly tone and a British accent. His voice invited you to trust it.

Dick didn't know if he should do so or just be more wary.

" _My name is Alfred Pennyworth. I am the butler for the Wayne family. It is very nice to meet you, Master Richard_."

Dick was so startled by the old man speaking his native language that he actually shook Alfred's outstretched hand. Dick was confused. How did this man know his language? Wayne knew it, too. It didn't make any sense. These two couldn't be Romani. There was nothing Rom about them. _So how do these two_ gadjo* _know Romani?_

The older man, Alfred, opened the door to the backseat of the limo. Wayne stepped easily in and gestured for Dick to follow him. As Dick moved towards the limo, he was stopped by the old man's voice. " _Vrei să iau lucrurile pentru tine, Maestrul Richard?_ " ("Would you like me to take your things for you, Master Richard?")

Dick pulled the garbage bag with his things in it tight to his chest. He didn't want to let go of his only possessions left from his first life. However far away that time seemed now and no matter how painful the memories were, Dick couldn't bear to lose anything more from that life. It was pitiful enough that he was only able to keep such few things as it was. He hadn't been allowed to take anything more.

" _Foarte bine atunci. S-ar putea ține pe-o singur,_ " the old man agreed readily. ("Very well then. You may hold onto it yourself.")

Dick relaxed his stance, somehow trusting that Alfred wouldn't take his things away. He got into the limo and sat down next to Wayne. Alfred closed the door behind him and got into the front seat. Dick watched out the window as Mini Arkham disappeared from view as they drove away.

* * *

Bruce sat buckled in the seat next to Richard. The limo was silent. It wasn't necessarily uncomfortable, but Bruce wanted to break it nonetheless. He still had yet to get a word out of the boy. It concerned him.

But, of course, there were other things that concerned him even more about the boy. Like the fact that he was covered in injuries yet again. Only this time, the injuries were much worse than Bruce's first meeting with the child. Bruises covered nearly every part of his body, all in various stages of healing. His face, surprisingly, had very few bruises. The worst one was a nasty black and purple contusion over his left temple. The boy also seemed to be favoring one side, making Bruce think that boy had injured a rib or something similar. He was limping the slightest amount on his right leg as well.

When Bruce had first seen Richard walk through the gate, his anger had almost let loose. This boy who was supposed to be protected and cared for had been terrorized and beaten to a bloody pulp in the short month he had been placed in the Juvenile Detention Center. Repeatedly, too. Bruce knew from his own experiences that the visible injuries on the boy that he had seen during his first visit wouldn't still be there now, fifteen days later. Which meant that he had been beaten repeatedly while in the JDC. It infuriated Bruce, and he had had to quickly control his emotions so the boy wouldn't think that Bruce was angry with him. Staring at the boy now, sitting quietly, almost sullenly, in his seat, Bruce made a mental note to take him to see Dr. Leslie. He had to make sure the boy didn't have any other injuries as well.

Bruce had another concern, as well. Possibly his biggest. When the boy had come through the gate to meet Bruce, he had come with another boy. Bruce hadn't recognized the boy right away, but he had noticed that Richard was quite close to the boy. They had had their own farewell of sorts, Bruce had guessed from watching the two. He had been suspicious of the boy, of course, considering the physical state Richard was in. But Richard had seemed sad to leave the older boy, so Bruce had put aside his suspicions for the time. Turned out, he shouldn't have. As Bruce was leaving with Richard, he saw the other boy sitting down with a man Bruce recognized immediately. Rurik Bolkov. The leader of Gotham's Russian mob. Which would make the boy his son and heir. At that moment, Bruce couldn't be more glad that he had decided to take Richard in. _Who knows what might have happened to him if the Bolkovs got their hands on him._

"Would you like to go to Dr. Leslie's now or later, Master Bruce?" Alfred's voice came from the front, pulling Bruce out of his thoughts.

Bruce hadn't said anything aloud about taking Richard to Dr. Leslie but knew that Alfred had guessed his line of thinking after a single look at the greatly injured boy. "Let's go home first, Alfred," Bruce replied after a moment. "I want him to get comfortable with his new situation before we put him through a full physical like that."

"Very well, Master Bruce."

Bruce looked back down to the eight-year-old sitting next to him. Richard was staring at him with a suspicion no child his age should know. The boy probably hadn't understood a word of Bruce and Alfred's conversation, Bruce realized. He was most likely scared and nervous.

Bruce decided to try and break the tension. " _We're going home right now to get you settled in. But in a couple of days I want to take you to see a doctor. I'm concerned about your injuries. Would that be okay with you?_ "

The boy tensed at the mention of his injuries but otherwise didn't react. He just kept staring straight ahead.

Bruce sighed, wishing something he said could get a real reaction out of the boy. _A shrug would do, for God's sake._ Bruce kept trying, nonetheless. " _I know this is a big change for you, but I'm hoping you'll adjust easily enough. You'll have your own room, and I don't have many rules, so you can basically do whatever makes you happy. Does that sound good to you?_ " Bruce kept trying to end with questions, hoping to get something out of the boy.

But there was nothing.

Bruce quit talking then. He wasn't getting anywhere just yet, and he was never much of a talker anyway. Only when he was putting on the facade of playboy Bruce Wayne. He didn't want to be that Bruce with this boy. He wanted Richard to see the real him, or as much as was safe. The boy obviously couldn't learn about Batman. It would be far too dangerous.

After a long, silent ride, the limo pulled up to the black, wrought iron gates of Wayne Manor with the stylized "W" standing prominent on each gate. This finally caught Richard's attention, Bruce noticed with a small amount of satisfaction. The boy was sitting forward in his seat, trying to see out the window to the mansion spread out before them.

Between the gate and the mansion spread a large, manicured yard with grass a bright, spring green. A stone driveway bisected the lawn until just before it reached the mansion, at which point the driveway formed a circle around a grand fountain. The house itself was constructed in a wide "H" shape, with the crossbeam of the H facing the front yard. In the center of the crossbeam, there was a small area that bumped out to form a grand entry way. Between the driveway and the front door were a good thirty stair steps. The mansion had four floors and access to the roof, which was enclosed by waist-height safety bars. Surrounding the base of the building were evergreen bushes.

Richard hadn't stopped staring since they arrived on the property on the outskirts of Gotham. Not even when he got out of the limo after Alfred opened his door, seemingly unaware of his own movement. Bruce followed the boy out and looked up at the Manor himself. To Bruce, who had lived there all his life, the Manor was no more special than anything else he had known. But, he realized, Richard had never known anything like this. The boy had grown up in a circus trailer. _A small one at that_ , Bruce remembered from his short visit with the circus owner two days after the accident. _He's probably never seen anything like this in his life._

" _Să_ _mergem_ _înăuntru?_ " Bruce asked the boy, who was still staring dumbstruck at the mansion in front of him. ("Shall we go inside?") The boy nodded unconsciously. Bruce put a hand to the boy's back and led him up the stairs and inside, Alfred holding the door for them.

If Bruce had thought the boy was stunned before, it was nothing compared to the boy's reaction to the inside of the house. They currently stood in the circular foyer just inside the house. The ceiling of the room arched up to the second floor and hung a chandelier above the center of the foyer. A staircase climbed both walls up to the second floor, which stood lofted on the far side of the room. Roman pillars held it up where it overhung the bottom floor. The steps of the staircases and the banisters for the staircase and the second floor loft were all made of ebony wood. The foyer floor was made of honey onyx marble, and the walls were a soft white. Centered on the foyer floor was a circle of black marble surrounding the stylized W of the Wayne family insignia. To the right, left, and directly in front of them were hallways leading to various parts of the Manor.

After giving the boy a moment to stare, Bruce nudged him along up the right staircase. The boy went willingly, still in amazement at the grandness of what was now his home. Bruce led him along through the house past statues and paintings and valuable works of art. Bruce noticed none of it. Dick noticed all of it.

They stopped at a door made of ebony wood midway down a hallway on the third floor. Bruce opened the door and let Dick walk in first.

The boy stopped immediately inside the doorway. The room was very large and quite nice. The doorway they stood in was on the far right side of the room. The walls were a dark blue, and the carpet was white. On either end on the opposite wall were two large windows that looked out onto the grounds of the Manor. Jutting out some feet from the center of the opposite wall was a large nook with a built-in lounge seat. The spot looked out from a floor-to-ceiling window to the same view. On the wall to the far left was a built-in fireplace lined by white wood crown molding. Above it was a large flat screen TV. Some fifteen feet back was a comfy-looking white couch. Closer to them on the left of where they stood and against the immediate wall was a king-sized bed. The frame and tall headboard were made of black ebony wood. The blankets were mainly blue but were embroidered in black with intricate designs. On either side of the bed were two small bedside tables. There was a blue-cushioned chest for storage at the foot of the bed as well. To the right of the entrance doorway were two doors. One led to the bathroom, the other to the closet.

Despite the grandness of the room, Bruce didn't think that had anything to do with why the boy had stopped short upon entering. Between the nook and the right window stood a mannequin the size of a young boy. On it was Richard's acrobat uniform from the Flying Grayson's last performance. The boy stared at it, a tumult of emotions flitting across his face. Grief. Anger. Loss. Guilt. Loneliness.…Lost. Suddenly, he turned sharply away, tears building in his eyes.

His gaze fell on the open door to the walk-in closet. Inside, he saw some very familiar items. Shakily, he walked towards it. His hand reached out and brushed along a pair of jeans, seemingly not believing that they were real. Bruce let Richard take in the sight of the boy's own clothing in there. The garbage bag the child held in his hands was too small to hold anything more than two or three outfits at the most, along with a few other small items. Bruce knew from his conversation with the circus owner that the police hadn't allowed the boy to take much when they took him away. Bruce had made sure to take as much as he could with him, everything from clothes to the stuffed animal the circus owner had said Richard liked very much.

" _I grabbed some other stuff, too. Mr. Haly helped me pick out the things he thought are most important to you._ " Bruce put a hand on the boy's back and nudged him towards the bed.

On the bad was the grey, elephant stuffed animal the circus owner had made Bruce take. Richard walked towards it somewhat unsteadily. He picked it up and held the small thing in his trembling hands, just staring at it for a moment. Then the boy looked up at Bruce. "You brought Peanut for me," he said in a small, shaky voice.

Bruce was so stunned that the boy finally spoke that it took him a moment to realize something important. "Wait. You can speak English?"

Richard just nodded his head slowly, looking down at the stuffed animal and stroking its head gently with his index finger. "The police wouldn't let me take Peanut. They said there was no place in my life for him anymore."

The boy's voice was so small and sad, Bruce had the urge to comfort him. He had never had such an urge before, and he didn't know how he felt about it. Somewhat awkwardly, Bruce put his hand on Richard's shoulder for a moment. "They shouldn't have told you that, Richard."

"Dick. My name is Dick."

"Okay, Dick."

Dick turned to look at him, but the boy's eyes caught on the picture frame on bedside table. It was one of his parents in their acrobat uniforms. Dick's father was standing behind his mother with his arms wrapped around her. Dick's hand shook as he reached for the frame. He froze as he saw what was on the sitting on the table before the picture. Two golden rings. One larger than the other.

Dick's whole body was positively vibrating now. He was shaking with everything that was tearing him apart. But he never made a sound, and not a tear left his eyes. Bruce wondered if the boy felt he couldn't cry, for whatever reason.

Bruce put a careful hand on the boy's shoulder again, but this time he kept there. "It's okay to cry, Dick. Sometimes you need to cry to deal with all of your emotions."

The boy shook his head slowly, eyes closed tight, not breathing.

"I don't know what anybody's told you, Dick, but you are allowed to cry. It's okay. You can't keep it all inside. It will tear you apart. Do you think your parents would want that for you?"

With a heart-wrenching sob, Dick collapsed to the ground, tears flooding down his face. Bruce lowered himself to the floor and knelt beside the boy. He uncomfortably wrapped his arms around Dick, trying to comfort the boy even though he didn't know how. Dick leaned heavily into Bruce, desperate for whatever small comfort he could get in this weakest of moments.

"It's…not fair. Why? Why did they…have to leave me?" the boy sobbed. "Why did they leave me all…alone? I don't want to be alone anymore.…I can't stand it! I just want them _back_."

"I know, Dick, I know," Bruce comforted. "But you're not alone. I'm here. And Alfred. We're here for you. You'll never be alone again." Bruce didn't know if Dick heard him or not. He just continued sobbing brokenly.

"It's all my fault.…It's all my fault. I should have spoken up more.…I should have made them listen."

Bruce's interest peaked. What did the boy feel so guilty about? "What did you want to tell them, Dick? What was so important?"

"Tony Zucco," the boy choked out. His voice was strangled by grief, guilt,…and fear. He was shaking even harder now.

Protective instincts Bruce didn't know he had struck him hard at the fear and distress in the boy's manner. "Who is Tony Zucco?" Bruce had to be careful not to let his anger out in his tone. He didn't want to scare the boy. But Batman certainly wanted to scare this Tony Zucco. No little boy should be pushed to this level of terror at just the thought of a single man.

Dick's body shook harder, but his voice got steadier. It seemed to help the boy to have something to focus on. "He was this man who came to the circus the day before our performance.…He threatened Mr. Haly. Told him that bad things happened to businesses that denied protection from Tony Zucco.… That night, when we were up on the trapeze, I saw him in the audience. I tried to warn _mami_ and _papi_ but they wouldn't listen.…They started the performance anyway. And then…and then…the wires…came up…no bolts…fell…fell." The boy's voice was utterly broken and lost. He couldn't hold himself together anymore. He was falling apart. His memories of his parent's deaths were too much for the small boy.

Then, in a clear voice, "Why wouldn't they listen?" The boy looked up at Bruce with the most lost expression, hoping against hope that Bruce would give him the answer about why his parents were now dead.

Unfortunately, Bruce didn't have that answer. "I don't know, Dick. But I do know there was nothing you could have done."

"I should have stopped them!" Dick interrupted. "I should have done something! But I did _nothing_! And now they're dead! It's all my fault. It's all my fault!"

Bruce's arms tightened instinctively around the boy. "No, Dick. It was not your fault. It was never your fault."

"It was!" the boy protested.

"No!" Bruce denied, adamant. The boy looked up with shocked eyes. "You were not at fault. You are a little boy. Eight years old. You couldn't have known what was going to happen. You couldn't have stopped it."

"But––"

"No. You are an innocent victim of a bad man's crime. Nothing more. Your parents wouldn't have wanted you to feel guilty about their deaths. Do you understand me, Dick?"

"But––"

"Do you understand me, Dick?" His voice was harder now; Batman was peeking through.

Miserably, the boy nodded his head.

"Then say it. Tell me that it wasn't your fault. Tell me that you did nothing wrong."

The boy whimpered in his arms. With his right arm wrapped around Dick's back and the boy sitting on his lap, Bruce cupped his cheek with his left hand. Dick tear-filled eyes stared into Bruce's concerned ones. "It wasn't…my fault," Dick sobbed, his body shaking from the emotional stress. Bruce nodded for him to continue. "I did…nothing…wrong."

Bruce pulled the small boy close and clutched him tight as Dick broke into anguished, pained sobs. Bruce held Dick together as he shattered and let the boy lean on his strength.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Gadjo means anyone who is not Romani. It could mean ethnically or a person without the Romani spirit (Romanipen).
> 
> So how was that? Did everybody love their DaddyBats moment? There's going to be a whole chapter devoted to it later on. They're going to have a father-son bonding day with lots of fluff. But don't worry, this story has plenty more hurt and angst left in it!


	7. Chapter 7

_The wires lifted._

" _Dick."_

" _ **NO!**_ _"_

_**CRACK!** _

"Dick! Dick! Wake up!"

Dick didn't hear the words or recognize the voice. But he most certainly felt the hands shaking his shoulders. He reacted on instinct. His fist flew up into his attacker's solar plexus, and he followed it with a kick to the sternum. Dick didn't let up when the attacker stumbled back; he pushed himself up and kept attacking.

Stop them before they stop you. Attack before you get attacked. And don't stop until they're down for good.

Before more than a half-minute passed, though, Dick found himself struggling with his back to his attacker, his two wrists firmly grasped behind his back and an arm immobilizing his upper torso. "Dick! Calm down. Stop this now."

Dick finally heard the words and recognized the voice. Bruce Wayne. The man had been talking to him during the entire incident, Dick only now realized. He quit struggling once he realized he wasn't being attacked, only restrained. After a long moment, Wayne let him go. Dick immediately turned around to face the man, trying to calm his gasping breaths. His body was still hyped up on adrenaline after the nightmare and fight, and he had to work to bring himself down.

"Are you okay, Dick?" the man asked him, his voice was soft but stern.

Dick nodded.

"Do you want to tell me why you reacted like that?"

No response.

"Dick?" Wayne's voice was slightly harder now.

"I thought you were attacking me because of the nightmare," Dick muttered out. He didn't know why Wayne was forcing him to say it out loud; the reason was obvious.

Anger flashed in the man's eyes. Dick tensed, ready for whatever might happen. "Did that happen often when you were in the Detention Center?"

Dick only shrugged in response. He didn't really want to talk about all the things that had happened to him while in Mini Arkham. It was too…personal? Those memories made him look weak, pathetic. Even Nikolai had thought so that first week. It wasn't until he started winning challenges that Nikolai had seen Dick's potential, seen him as more than a pitiful child. Dick didn't want anyone else seeing him that way.

The man's eyes narrowed in response to Dick's noncommittal answer, but he let it go for now. "Why don't you go back to bed, Dick? It's still the middle of the night."

Dick watched the man cautiously for a minute longer before he got in bed. He pulled the covers over himself and didn't relax until the door closed behind his new guardian.

* * *

Bruce Wayne sat in front of the Batcomputer, watching surveillance footage from the JDC he had taken Dick out of. Bruce was very concerned about the boy. Not only because of all the injuries, but because of the way Dick reacted to everything. The boy was jumpy and suspicious, like he expected Bruce to attack him at any moment. He didn't smile or even talk much. He denied his emotions and tried to act like he was completely fine when he clearly wasn't. And his injuries didn't seem to bother him as much as Bruce knew they should. The boy had fought him like the injuries weren't even there.

After the incident that just happened in Dick's room, Bruce needed to know exactly what had happened to the boy. He had previously thought to wait for Dick to open up to him, but that was no longer a viable option. Bruce needed to know just what he was getting himself into with this boy.

Bruce found the footage starting on the day Dick had been put in the JDC. There was no sound, and the cameras were only in the yard and the cafeteria, but it was something at least. He locked the computer onto Dick's form so the footage would follow the boy. Bruce watched as Dick, wearing an orange jumpsuit, was pushed out into the yard by one of the guards. The small, confused boy was immediately targeted by the same boy Bruce had seen Dick with when Bruce picked him up.

_The Bolkov boy_ , Batman growled _._

Bruce wished he could hear what was said as the older boy talked to Dick. His eyes narrowed in anger as the older boy grabbed Dick and punched him in the stomach. The young boy began to cry. Dick was then dropped to the ground, and the Bolkov boy planted a foot on top of him, lecturing the young child about something Bruce couldn't hear. The guards did nothing.

The footage only got worse the longer he watched.

* * *

Dick woke up at 5:59 out of habit. But at 6:00, no blaring alarm forced him out of bed. Dick sat up, confused. But the sight that met his eyes cleared everything up. Bruce Wayne. The limo. Wayne Manor. His new room. Last night. The nightmare.

Well, at least now he understood why he was holding Peanut in his arms again. During his time in Mini Arkham, he had forgotten how much he missed the little, gray elephant. The stuffed animal was a comfort he hadn't really known he needed. Now, he didn't know whether to embrace that comfort or throw it away. It made him feel weak to need it. But he couldn't deny that he  _did_  need it.

Dick laid back down and turned onto his right side, facing the door. On the night stand, he saw the rings and the picture frame. Shifting a bit closer, he reached out and ran his finger over the edge of the smaller ring. Memories flooded his mind, but he didn't break this time. He was much calmer now than he had been last night. He could suppress the emotional backlash that had overtaken his defenses last night.

Dick got out of the uncomfortably comfortable bed. He was too used to the thin mattress of his metal cot in Mini Arkham to find any contentment in the ultra soft, king-sized, four-poster bed here. He walked quickly over to the bathroom, partly avoiding the sight of his acrobat uniform on the way.

The bathroom was easily the length and double the width of his old trailer back with the circus. The walls and floor were done in tile, blue on the walls and white on the floor. On the left there was a long, counter made of blue marble with a built-in sink. Underneath, done in ebony wood, was a whole bunch of drawers and cupboards. On the wall above was a large mirror that extended the length of the counter. On the far side of the room was a white toilet. Around the base and on top of the closed lid were those bath rug things, in blue, Dick had seen on TV shows occasionally. He had never seen the point of them then, and now that he saw them in real life, he still didn't. His family never had one in their trailer at the circus, and they'd been completely fine.

There was another one in front of the very large shower-slash-bath on the right wall. The shower was separated from the rest of the room by a sliding, frosted glass partition. To Dick's immediate right was a row of hangers with several towels on them. The towels were,  _of course_ , white and blue.  _Does Wayne just love white and blue, or did he go for the most generic thing he could find?_

Dick shrugged off the grand sight of the bathroom and got in the shower. It took him a minute to figure out all the knobs and buttons and finally get the shower to work.  _Who needs this many buttons to work a shower? I mean, really, it only needs to turn on, have hot water, and turn off_ , Dick thought, disgruntled. He took the shower quickly and got out to dry off with one of the too-soft towels. He hung the damp towel back up on the rack and left the bathroom.

Dick walked unhurriedly to the closet and just stared. Back in the circus, Dick had had two drawers in their trailer for all his clothes. Now he had a walk-in closet the size of that trailer. All his clothes were there, along with a bunch of other clothing that Wayne or the butler guy must have picked out. The new stuff had a similar style to his own clothing, but Dick could see the obvious differences.

His stuff was old and worn. The other clothing was new. His stuff was hand-me-downs and Salvation Army and off-the-rack at Walmart. The other clothing was high end and brand names, things Dick had very little concept of other than from movies. The two just didn't fit together properly.

In the end, Dick just grabbed a pair of black jeans, a red T-shirt, and a gray sweatshirt from his own clothing before leaving the room. He traced his way back through the Manor to the main foyer, having memorized the route yesterday even with the distraction of the mansion's opulence. From the bottom of the stairs in the foyer, Dick chose the door to his right and began his search for the kitchen. He moved silently through the house.

Outside of one door at the start of a hallway, Dick heard voices. He paused against the wall by the door, listening in. It was Wayne and the butler. Dick grimaced at the sound of Wayne's voice. He recalled vividly his breakdown last night. Dick had fallen apart completely and hadn't known how to deal with it. Wayne had tried to help, but looking back with a clear head now, it was obvious to Dick that the man had little experience in that department.

Dick had accepted what comfort he could from the man last night during his moment of weakness, but now he didn't know how to react around the man. Did Wayne think him weak now? Pathetic? He didn't know how he was supposed to act around the man after that.

"It's despicable, Alfred." That was Wayne's voice. "I can't believe the way Dick was treated there. How could the guards just stand around and let that happen?"

Dick tensed. The man was obviously talking about Mini Arkham.  _What does he know?_

"This world certainly has no shortage of those willing to simply look on at other's pain and do nothing. You should know that better than most, Master Bruce." That voice had to be Alfred, the butler guy Dick had met briefly yesterday.

"Yes, but Dick is a child! How could this have happened to him?" Dick couldn't tell if the voice was more angry or upset. He stiffened at the next words. "And that Bolkov boy! What was his plan in all of this? It was like he was grooming the boy for something."

Dick put two and two together and realized that Wayne was talking about Nikolai. A frown chiseled its way onto his face. Why was Wayne angry with Nikolai? Nikolai never did anything to Dick. Nikolai had been so good to him, taking Dick under his wing when Dick didn't even deserve it and rewarding Dick whenever he won a challenge.

"Perhaps he was. You said yourself that he is the son of Rurik Bolkov. Perhaps he was looking for new members while in the Detention Center." It was that reserved English accent again, trying to make sense of the situation.

_What is the guy?_ Dick thought snidely to himself.  _Wayne's voice of reason?_

"Dick clearly admired the boy. Despite everything that kid did to him, Dick looked up to him. How can that be, Alfred? The kid beat him senseless countless times and looked on as others did the same. Yet Dick looked honestly upset to be separated from him yesterday."

Dick's frown deepened. Nikolai hadn't beaten him. He had only been punishing Dick when he did something wrong. How was he supposed to learn if Nikolai didn't punish his misdemeanors? And the other kids never beat him! He won every fight! And Nikolai had to oversee the challenges. They wouldn't be official if he didn't. Why didn't Wayne understand that? Nikolai was good to him. He never punished Dick when he didn't deserve it.

"Perhaps Master Richard formed an attachment to the boy? This Bolkov child clearly singled the young Master out and made the boy rely entirely on him for everything right down to his meals. From what you have told me, Master Bruce, the Bolkov child lightened his treatment of Master Richard after the boy starting winning fights with the other children. Even let him eat his meals before the other children. Perhaps Master Richard interpreted this lack of abuse as kindness from the Bolkov child. It may have allowed him to rationalize the older boy's actions and look up to him."

Dick did  _not_  like what the old man was saying. Wayne and the butler guy were acting like Nikolai had abused Dick, beaten him for no reason. But Nikolai had only done what he had to! How was Dick supposed to learn if Nikolai didn't teach him?  _These two are wrong! Dead wrong!_

"Maybe you're right, Alfred," Wayne murmured.

Dick fumed outside the door while silence grew on the other side. He was about to go in and tell them what he thought of their little discussion when Alfred's next words came.

"What are you going to do about this Anthony Zucco character? Do you believe that he had something to do with the deaths of Master Richard's parents?"

Dick was frozen to the spot, ears straining to catch every word.

"I think it's very possible. Zucco is lowlife scum. He wouldn't hesitate to do something like this. It's possible Dick could be blaming Zucco for the incident because of what happened earlier that day between Zucco and the circus owner. But there's definitely a possible connection. At any rate, it's worth looking into."

_What does Wayne think he's going to do about Zucco_? Dick wondered. It wasn't like the guy was a cop or something.

There was silence in the other room again. Then, "Master Richard, would you like to come in now?"

Dick froze. How did the butler guy know he was here? He hadn't made a sound!

Dick cautiously reached for the doorknob and opened the door. Inside the kitchen, Wayne was sitting at the table, looking as surprised as Dick felt, and the butler guy was at the counter cooking something, completely unaffected by Dick's appearance.

The kitchen was a long, rectangular room. The wall where Dick stood in the doorway was on one of the long sides. There was another door farther down the same wall that opened into the same hallway Dick had just come from. On the far right wall was a door to another room. The wall to Dick's left and the one across the room from Dick held one long, continuous counter made of gray marble and mahogany wood. The cupboards below and above the counter were made of the same mahogany wood. The upper cupboards against the far wall were interrupted at two points for two large, two-paned windows. Below the left window was a wide, deep sink. Interrupting the lower cupboards to the right of the sink was a dishwasher. Farther to the right was a stove top and oven. On the wall to the left was a large, white fridge. In the middle of the kitchen was an island made of mahogany wood with tall seats surrounding it. Wayne was sitting in one of those seats.

"How long have you been outside the door, Dick?" Wayne asked after his moment of surprise. His voice was hard.

Dick, reminded of what he had heard while listening in, glared at Wayne. "Nikolai  _did not_  abuse me," he bit out.

Wayne sighed and stood up. He walked over to Dick and knelt down, placing his hands on Dick's shoulders. The boy shrugged them off. Wayne's voice was soft but stern. "Dick, I know you don't see it that way––"

"Nikolai. Did.  _NOT._  Abuse. Me. He helped me!" Dick was all but yelling now.

Bruce didn't scream, but his tone was hard and biting enough that he might as well have. "He _beat_ you!"

"Only when I deserved it!"

Wayne was clearly taken aback by Dick's declaration.

_He just doesn't understand!_  Dick fumed.

"How about some pancakes, Master Richard?" The sound of the old man's voice distracted the other two from their stare down.

Dick looked up, confused. The butler guy, still in an impeccable suit, was placing a plate of pancakes on the island counter, along with a fork and knife. Dick pulled away from Wayne and walked over to the island. He sat at the counter in front of the plate, still seething at Wayne's words. Wayne stood up and sat back down at his own place. The butler guy abruptly dropped a plate of eggs and toast in front of Wayne. The plate clattered against the countertop from the brusque placement. His movements were agitated now, Dick noted. They hadn't been a moment ago when he had given Dick his plate. He'd been very gentle then, actually.

First meal was eaten in silence. When Dick had finished his plate, the butler, Alfred, took it away, smiling kindly at Dick as he did so. Dick sat there awkwardly afterwards. Wayne had finished before him, but the butler hadn't taken his plate. Dick figured that Alfred must be angry with Wayne for some reason. Was this the butler way of getting a silent revenge or something? For what?

Wayne stood up abruptly. "Come, Dick. You have an appointment to see Dr. Leslie this morning."

Dick stared at the man, still angry. "Why?"

"Because you are clearly injured and need medical attention." Wayne sounded as irritated as Dick felt.

"I'm fine," Dick bit out.

"No, you are not." Wayne's words matched Dick's own.

"Master Richard," Alfred began in a gentle tone, "why don't you just humor Master Bruce? It'll make us all feel better, and it won't take all that long at all. Dr. Leslie is a very kind woman. She'd love to meet a nice young lad like you. And she always has lollipops in her office."

Dick didn't know whether to smile or snort at the old man's attempt to bribe him with the idea of lollipops. In the end he just conceded with a hard "Fine" and stood up.

"Will you be needing me to come with you, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked, his voice markedly colder than when he had talked to Dick.

"No, that's okay, Alfred. We'll be fine on our own. Won't we, Dick?"

Dick didn't answer, merely glared at the man. Dick followed Wayne out of the kitchen, through the mansion, and into a large garage with well over a dozen cars in it.  _Who needs this many cars?_

The ride was silent and tense. Dick was still angry with Wayne about what he said about Nikolai. After around twenty minutes, they arrived at a small clinic in the heart of Gotham. Inside and out, it was just like any other doctor's office Dick had ever seen, in real life and on TV. The waiting room was small with chairs lining the walls. In the middle of the room there was a low table with many magazines spread out on top. To the right there was glass window divider in the wall. A young woman with blond hair sat behind it. In the far wall, there was a door that probably led to the rest of the doctor's office. There was no one else in the waiting room.

Dick sat down in a not-completely-uncomfortable chair to wait while Wayne talked with the receptionist. After a short moment, Wayne sat next to him. The air was still tense between them. After five minutes of silent waiting, a woman walked out of the door to the rest of the clinic.

The lady was old, in her fifties or sixties. She wore black flats, a tan skirt, and a purple turtleneck underneath a white doctor's coat. Her white hair was in a bun, and her face was lined with wrinkled. More than a few were smile lines. Her eyes were kind and soft. Dick immediately liked her, though he couldn't figure out why.

"Hello, Bruce. And this must be young Richard." Her voice matched her eyes. She held out her hand to Dick. "It's very nice to meet you, Richard. I'm Dr. Leslie."

Dick stood up and shook her hand. "You can call me Dick."

She smiled wider. "Okay, Dick. How about we go into one of the rooms and get you checked out?" She turned and walked back towards the door she had entered through. Dick followed her, Wayne coming in behind him.

Dr. Leslie turned into the second door on the right. The room was small with a counter against the immediate wall, a small seat and a scale against the left wall, and a cot covered with a paper sheet along the right wall. Dick went to sit on the bed, the paper sheet rustling underneath him. Wayne sat in the chair.

Dr. Leslie began by asking Dick question after question about his family's medical history––most of which he didn't know, some of which Wayne did somehow (Dick shot him a suspicious glare ever time the man answered one of the questions)––and writing down his answers on a paper attached to a clipboard. She then had him stand up and took his weight and height. Next, she listened to his heart and lungs with her stethoscope. After that she looked at his throat and ears with the otoscope. Other things were done, too. Palpitating the abdomen (careful of his injuries, of course), taking his blood pressure, checking his reflexes, an eye test, routine blood work (Dick was probably the only kid in history to not be bothered by needles).

"Now that all that's out of the way," Dr. Leslie began, her tone more serious, "let's take a look at your injuries."

Dick stiffened. He didn't like advertising his weaknesses. Nevertheless, he took off his shirt when Dr. Leslie asked. He kept his wrists turned protectively towards his body, though. She barely reacted to the sight of his massively bruised stomach and chest. Wayne, on the other hand, scowled and barely contained a growl.

The bruises, which even now were a deep black in some areas and a sick yellow in others, transversed his entire stomach and chest, traveled down his arms, and were spattered across his back. Dr. Leslie inspected him carefully, pressing with varying levels of pressure on certain points of his body. Dick refused to react to any of it.

She paused as she pressed on several points on his chest. "You have three cracked ribs, young man. Do you know how you got those?" Her tone, though still kind, was stern.

Dick didn't want to answer. Especially not after the conversation he'd overheard this morning.

"He was in quite a few fights while he was at the Juvenile Detention Center. One boy in particular was probably responsible for most of his injuries." Wayne's voice was hard and angry.

"Leave Nikolai out of this." Dick's tone matched Wayne's.

"How can I when he did this to you?"

"He did nothing I didn't deserve!"

"Dick––"

"Bruce, you stop right there." Dr. Leslie's firm voice interrupted them. She was no longer smiling. To Dick's surprised, the man actually quieted down, though he was obviously still fuming. "Now please go stay in the waiting room while I finish up here with Dick."

"Leslie––"

"Go, Bruce."

The man stood up and walked out stiffly. When he was gone, Dr. Leslie turned to Dick, smiling once more. "That's better, isn't it?" Dick just stared at her, cautious now that he'd seen her fiercer side. "Now, Dick," she began, her voice kind but firm, "I'm going to make you a promise. You can tell me anything you'd like, and I will not tell Bruce a word. I will not talk to him about anything you tell me."

Dick watched her suspiciously. He didn't know whether he could believe her. She seemed sincere. But that didn't mean anything, really.

"So, Dick, how did you get all these injuries?" She didn't wait for an answer before she started to look over his injuries again. She checked each part of his body carefully, even having him strip down to his boxer shorts to look at his legs. She asked him small questions intermittently about various injuries.

Dick stared at her the whole while, an internal battle raging within him. Part of Dick didn't want to say anything. He wanted to keep it all to himself and not let his weakness show. Another part, the part that looked at Dr. Leslie and saw a kind, motherly woman, wanted to break down and tell her everything.

He settled for a middle ground. His words came out hesitantly. "I was challenged a lot in Mini Arkham."

"Mini Arkham is the Detention Center?" she asked, not stopping her work. Dick nodded. "But that's not where all your injuries came from, is it?"

Hesitantly, Dick shook his head. "A lot of them come from Nikolai." Needing to explain, he continued, "I-I was bad, you know? He had to punish me. All those misdemeanors. I wouldn't have learned if he didn't punish me. He had to teach me. It was the only way." He was almost desperate to make her understand, but the right words just wouldn't come.

Dr. Leslie finally stopped the checkup to look Dick directly in the eyes. "No amount of…misdemeanors…should see you punished like this, Dick. Nikolai"––she said the name with a detachment Dick was unfamiliar with, as if Nikolai was just one of several billion inconsequential people on this planet––"shouldn't have harmed you, and certainly not to this extent. Nothing you could have done would make you deserve this. You made mistakes, Dick, whether those were real mistakes or one's that this Nikolai decided to be mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes. That doesn't mean you should be punished for them. And certainly not like this. Nikolai abused you, Dick. There is no other explanation for what he did to you."

Dick stared at her uncertainly. She was so serious, so intent and determined, but gentle. Dick couldn't understand it. What she was saying…the concept was so…foreign. How could Nikolai have been wrong? He was Nikolai! He was always right.

Always.

He couldn't have abused Dick. He cared about Dick. Took care of him.  _She has to be wrong! … Doesn't she?_

Dick looked away from her eyes, not wanting to think about this anymore. It was too complicated. Too confusing. He could still feel the intensity of her stare, burning a hole in his mind.

Dr. Leslie seemed to decide to drop the subject, only to take up another, just as uncomfortable one. "Dick, what are these marks here?" Dr. Leslie asked, her voice soft. Cautious.

Dick looked up slowly, his heart in his throat and blood pounding in his temples.

She was holding his arms out straight, staring directly at the small, neat little marks lining themselves up his arms. There were quite a few rows of them now, mostly covered by a myriad of bruises that wrapped around his arms, but Dick knew exactly how many cuts marked his skin. Some of the cuts were old, developing into scars now. Others were new, less than a week old. Quite a few of them had been made in the last two weeks. None had been made in the last four days, since Nikolai had taken him back.

"Dick, you know this is very serious, don't you?… Dick, sweetie, you need to talk to me.… Dick?"

She was worried, Dick could tell. Part of him understood; this wasn't exactly normal, he knew. Probably a faux pas of some sort. But it had been all too normal in Mini Arkham. Most of the older kids had done it. That's where Dick had gotten the idea in the first place. He'd almost forgotten it was something to be ashamed of while he was there. It wasn't until Wayne had started to react to all of Dick's injuries that he'd remembered to hide these particular ones.

"I need it." His voice was small. They were the only words he could get out past the lump in his throat. His eyes were stinging for some reason.

"Why, Dick?" Soft. Gentle. Coaxing.

"I just need it. It helps me."

He was almost grateful when she suggested they head out to the waiting room, if only to get away from that piercing gaze and those concerned eyes. He got dressed quickly and followed her out. In the waiting room, Wayne was pacing stiffly. He looked up as they came in.

"Why don't you go sit, Dick? I'd like to talk to Bruce for a bit." Dick looked up at her abruptly, suspicious and betrayed. "Don't worry," she assured him. "I haven't forgotten my promise."

Slightly reassured, he went to sit in one of the chairs while Wayne disappeared with Dr. Leslie back down the hall and out of his eyesight.

* * *

"How bad is he?" Bruce's words were curt. He was still pacing, his steps stiff.

"Physically? He's in quite a poor condition, not that he acknowledges it." Her voice was all business. "And of course, I can't know much for sure without putting him under MRIs and X-rays. I don't want to do that now, though. We wouldn't want to overwhelm him when he's only just escaped one traumatizing experience.

"From what I can tell though, he has three cracked ribs on his right side. If it's not bothering him medically, which it doesn't seem to be as he is breathing and moving normally, then he should be just fine. I'll give you a prescription for a mild pain medication. That should also help with what appears to be a bruised right femur. It doesn't seem to stop him from walking or moving around, so I wouldn't be all that concerned. His left shoulder, it seems, has a deep tissue bruise, as does much of his stomach. On the back of his head, there is a large gash with thirteen stitches. He claims that he had a concussion when the injury first occurred, but he is either entirely over it or is almost there. His left kidney, from what I can tell, is also injured. Most likely a bruise. There is no blood in his urine, though, from what he told me, so he should be okay. Aside from all of that, he is covered in bruising, if you couldn't tell, though most of it has stayed away from his face, interestingly enough. He has also been starved and malnourished for a good period of time.

"None of these things are especially concerning on their own, as none of them seem to impede his normal functions. But, considering the extent of his injuries and the fact that none of them even seem to bother him, I would say that this boy has been severely abused for quite some time." She paused, meeting his gaze. "He's gotten used to it, Bruce."

Bruce stopped pacing and looked her in the eye. He was upset, concerned, and guilty. He wasn't used to feeling so much for another person. He had Alfred and even Leslie in his life, but he had never felt this much for a single being. It was disconcerting, and he didn't know what to do about it.

"I went to visit him, once, while he was in that hellhole. He was bruised and banged up, then, too. I was concerned, but I had thought it had only happened the one time, and that there was nothing more to do about it anyway." He drew in a heavy breath. "When I picked him up yesterday and saw how damaged he was…is…"

Leslie sighed and guided Bruce to the chair on the side of the room. She drew out the stool that had been hiding underneath the desk for herself to sit on. "Bruce, this child is going to need a lot of care. Not just physically, because he will heal soon enough from all his current injuries, but emotionally. Dick is a small child. He's impressionable. For the last month, he has been taught one way of life. That's all he is familiar with now. You're going to have to teach him a new way to live. You're going to have to help heal him emotionally."

Bruce was silent for a while. Leslie and Alfred were the only two people Bruce really turned to for advice. They had been there for him his whole life and guided him through his darkest times. He trusted their words completely. If this was Leslie's advice, then he would take it. He filed this conversation away in his mind for later reflection when he had more time.

"And what do you think of Dick's…defense…of this other boy? Nikolai? Alfred and I were thinking it's some form of Stockholm Syndrome."

Leslie though it over for a moment. "It's very possible, but I'm no psychologist. I think this Nikolai boy has had a lot of influence over Dick. Probably still does. I think he taught Dick a certain way to live, and he was the center of that life. I think Dick became attached to this boy and found a way to rationalize his actions.

"I tried to talk with him about it. He wouldn't say much, and I can't tell you what he did say. But I think I may have gotten through to him, if only a little. The seed of doubt is planted. I could see it in his eyes. Given time, a little encouragement, and a lot of support, I think he'll get over his devotion to this Nikolai. But it'll be hard."

Bruce nodded, deep in thought. He was going to have to find a way of altering Dick's perception of the Bolkov boy. He made a mental note to research Stockholm Syndrome later. And maybe some good psychologists in Gotham.

"Bruce…," Leslie's hesitant yet serious voice put him on instant alert. "I need you to listen to me very carefully. You are dealing with a very delicate situation. Dick is a young, hurting, traumatized boy. Before this entire situation with the Detention Center even started, the boy had just lost his parents. And I highly doubt he had any time to grieve while in the facility. He has probably repressed a lot of his emotions in that time. He may have periodic outburst because of this. But those will only be symptoms of the real problem." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "He is going to need a lot of help and support to overcome the emotional turmoil inside of him.

"I'm not doubting your abilities, Bruce. But you need to think about this seriously. We are talking about the life of a child. Do you really think you can be everything he needs, Bruce? Do you really think the best situation for Dick is with you? You're his foster father now, Bruce. Do you really think you can live up to that?"


	8. Chapter 8

Dick crept around the halls of the mansion, trying to not be seen or heard. The butler, Alfred, was right around the corner of the doorway, cleaning the study. Dick had been following the old man since Wayne and Dick had gotten back from the doctor's earlier that day. Wayne, who had had an odd, uncertain look of his face since talking with Dr. Leslie, had disappeared to go to work, or so he had told Dick.  _Who works on a Sunday?_

Now Dick was left to his own devices. And as he always did now when on his own, he stalked and spied. Alfred was the only one around, so the old man was his target. It was also a pleasant challenge for Dick, seeing how the man had spotted him earlier outside the kitchen. Dick still didn't know how he had done that. He was pretty sure the man didn't know he was here now though. The butler would have said something if he knew, wouldn't he?

The phone rang, startling Dick. He heard Alfred walking to the phone and picking it up. "Wayne residence…. Oh hello, Leslie. Are you looking for Master Bruce? I'm afraid he's away right now."

Dick's heart stopped in his chest. Why was Dr. Leslie calling Bruce? Did she change her mind? Was she going to tell him everything? Dick felt the blood in his veins turned to ice at the thought.

He scurried into the room opposite the study. It was a good-sized library with countless floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with books. Several comfy-looking chairs were arranged at certain places around the room along with several long tables and a few office desks. ick was interested in the phone on the small table against the wall to his left though. Dick picked it up cautiously, careful not to hit it against the phone cradle, and put it to his ear.

"––I can't tell Bruce. Dick asked me not to. But it's very concerning, Alfred. A boy his age doing this.…" She seemed unsure and worried.

Dick's heart stuttered in fear. Was she going to tell Alfred about––

"What is he doing, Leslie?" Alfred's voice was concerned and gentle, coaxing.

"He's cutting himself, Alfred. He has small, neat scars running up and down his forearms. They were hard to see at first under all the bruising, but they are clearly there. Some of them are only a few days old."

Dick felt his heart crumble in pain. How could she have told on him? She promised she wouldn't! Dick could barely understand the feelings of pain and betrayal that whipped through him.

_Technically, she only promised not to tell Bruce_ , part of his mind pointed out.

"Oh my… What do you suggest we do?" Alfred was still calm, but worry was evident in his tone.

"I don't think we should tell Bruce. I'm not sure if he could handle this in addition to everything else. I talked with him about Dick's mental health for a time. I told him that he was going to have to give Dick a lot of love and support. That he's Dick's foster father now, and he needs to live up to that.… He looked terrified, Alfred. I don't think he realized before just how serious all of this is. Before it was just words on legal documents. Now it's real and demanding.

"I think he can be good for Dick, and Dick for him, given the chance. But right now everything is just falling into place in his mind. Bruce is going to need to figure all of this out if he is going to really help Dick. I think he can do it, but it is all very real to him now. And I don't want to push him over the edge with this news."

Dick, angry and hurt, dismissed the concern in her voice. It was fake. It had to be.  _She said she wouldn't tell! How could she do this to me? I_ trusted _her!_

"I quite understand, Leslie. Just how serious is the problem?"

How could the old guy be so calm? He just learned that Dick was cutting himself, and it barely even phase him. At the same time, Dick could hear the concern in his voice.  _Is it fake just like Dr. Leslie's?_  Dick asked himself.

"I need you to keep an eye on him, Alfred. I tried to talk with him about it, but he was resistant. From what little I could get out of him, this is about trying to deal with pain and finding a sense of control. He's had to deal with a lot lately, Alfred. This is the way he learned how to cope. We need to find him another way."

"What would you like me to do?"

"Keep an eye on him. Try to keep him from harming himself anymore. Talk with him. Tell him he can come to you if he needs to. We need to solve the root cause of the problem if we're really going to help him. You can't give him an ultimatum, though. That will only make it worse. We're not going to be able to stop this right away. It's going to take a lot of time."

"And what do we tell Master Bruce?"

Dick's heart stopped again. Surely Alfred wasn't going to betray him, too. He had actually begun to like the old man.

"For now, nothing. You know the man well, Alfred. When you think he can handle it, then we can tell him."

"Very well. But only if the young Master agrees." Dick almost collapsed from the relief that washed over him at the old man's words.

Dick put the phone down carefully and made his way up to his room, deep in thought. He didn't want to hear any more right now. He was already overwhelmed by the mass of emotions inside of him. He didn't understand any of them. He was in pain and confused and betrayed and relieved and sad and angry and lost. He couldn't make sense of any of it. His mind was reeling.

Dick laid down on his bed and pulled his legs up to his chest, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling in his chest when his hurt ribs protested the movement. His eyes landed on Peanut, and he pulled the stuffed animal close in a tight hug, trying to find what comfort he could in his small friend.

It wasn't enough.

* * *

They wanted him to stop cutting.

Dick knew, logically, that cutting himself was bad and could be dangerous. But he  _needed_  it. He needed the outlet for all his pain. How else was he supposed to stay calm, to keep his emotions under control? How could he just stop when he life was in chaos? How was he supposed to deal with everything?

It was all too much.

Dick clenched and unclenched his hands, feeling the burn, the itch in his arms. He wanted to cut right now. He wanted to bleed out all these overwhelming emotions. He wanted to find that peace in his mind again.

Before he could get out of bed, there was a knock at the door. Dick felt his heart skip a beat.

"Master Richard, may I come in?" It was Alfred.

Dick swallowed thickly. His voice was unsure. "Okay."

Alfred opened the door slowly, as if not wanting to spook the young child on the bed. He walked over to the bed and sat down next to Dick. He reached out a hand slowly and stroked the boy's hair with a gentle touch. Dick had managed to suppress his automatic flinch when the hand had risen towards his face. After a momentary discomfort, he found the feel of the hand stroking his head was nice, soothing. It calmed him, helped wash some of his chaotic emotions away.

"I know you heard me on the phone with Dr. Leslie, Master Richard," the man began in a gentle voice. Dick tensed, but the hand never stopped its slow strokes and Alfred didn't continue until Dick had completely relaxed again. "I know you're probably upset with her right now, and you have every right to be. She broke a promise to you. But you should understand that she is very concerned about you. She doesn't want you to see you hurt. Whether it was right or not, she did what she thought was best."

Dick frowned and looked away from Alfred. He didn't want to hear this. He didn't want to think that Dr. Leslie actually cared about him. Because, somehow, that made the betrayal all the worse.

Alfred didn't speak for a long while, letting Dick relax and process all that was happening. The hand still stroked his hair, lulling him. "Master Richard, may I see your arms?" The quiet question almost didn't register in Dick's peaceful mind.

But then it did. He curled tighter in on himself, his shoulders hunched forward in a protective curl, his arms clutched tighter around his chest. But he didn't pull away from the hand stroking his head.

"Please, Master Richard? I only want to look."

Slowly, ever so slowly, Dick disentangled his arms from around himself. Even slower, he held them out to Alfred. Alfred gently cradled Dick's wrists so that he could see the damage Dick had done to himself. True to his word, he only looked, inspecting each line carefully. Dick trembled the entire time, waiting for the kind old man to pass judgement on him. When the man finally released his arms, Dick pulled them tight to himself, hiding the scars once more. He hugged Peanut close and trembled, waiting…just waiting.

But nothing happened. The man went back to stroking Dick's head after a short moment. They sat together in silence for a long while after that.

"Master Richard, I know this will be very hard for you, and you can only do this if  _you_  want to. But do you think we can try to break this habit of yours? Together?"

Dick's body shook at the thought. He didn't know if he could. If he wanted to. He needed the emotional release cutting gave him. He needed something to turn to when everything became too much. How was he supposed to cope with the world around him if he couldn't bleed out his emotions when they started to overwhelm him?

"I'll be here for you the entire time, Master Richard." Alfred's voice was as gentle and soothing as the hand stroking his hair. "If you feel the urge to harm yourself, we can talk or go for a walk or we can just sit here like this."

Dick looked up at the old man, unsure. His kind eyes met Dick's. They were soft, concerned. Dick swallowed thickly past the lump in his throat.

Part of him wanted to give in and do whatever the man asked of him. But another part was afraid. He didn't know if he could do this. It was a lot to ask of Dick. He didn't know if he was strong enough to do this.

"You don't have to make a decision just yet, Master Richard. Just know that I am always here if you need me." With a final stroke to Dick's head, the man stood up to leave.

"Alfred?" Dick's voice came out hesitantly.

The old man stopped at the door, turning to look at the small figuring lying on the bed. "Yes, Master Richard?"

"Thank you. And…you can call me Dick."

The old man smiled kindly. "You're very welcome, Master Richard."

* * *

Dick woke up the next morning at 5:59 to the sight of Alfred leaving his bedroom. Dick sat up as the door closed behind the silent butler.  _How can he move around like that without me even noticing?_

On the chest at the foot of the bed was a set of clothing for Dick to wear. From where Dick laid on the bed, it looked like the uniform Alfred had told him about when Wayne informed Dick last night that he'd be attending school tomorrow, now today.

Wayne had been distant the entire week, ever since they'd come back from seeing Dr. Leslie. And he still had that weird, uncertain look on his face every time the guy so much as looked at Dick. They barely talked. Wayne never came to last meal. ( _Dinner_ , Dick remembered Alfred had told him to call it.) He wasn't even always there for first–– _breakfast_.

It bothered Dick that the man was absent so often. He didn't know what to think about it, but it made his stomach turn with a knot of emotions he couldn't begin to untangle. The guy disappeared all the time, day and night. Dick could understand him leaving during the day sometimes. The man probably had work. From what Dick had picked up, the guy ran a pretty big company––Wayne Enterprises or Industries or something like that.

But the guy wasn't around for the nights either. He'd come back from work, and Dick knew that he did because he watched for the car to get back in the afternoon. But then Wayne would completely disappear before they even had dinner. All the cars would still be in the garage and no other cars came to pick the guy up. But he would be gone. Dick had searched the entire mansion three nights in a row. Wayne just wasn't there. What the hell was with that? Did the guy really not want to even look at Dick so much that he snuck out of his own house?

He barely talked to Dick even when he was there. Hell, the longest conversation they'd had since coming back from the doctor's was Wayne telling him last night that'd Dick would be attending this boring-ass prep school he had gone to as a kid. And any time they were even in the same room, Wayne was constantly giving Dick that weird, uncomfortable look, like the guy just didn't know what to do with him.

Dick had started to worry that he'd done something wrong. Was Wayne still angry with him about Nikolai? Or was it something else? Maybe Dr. Leslie told Wayne something Dick had confided in her? Or maybe Wayne just didn't want him around anymore? Did he regret taking Dick in?

Dick didn't know what to think about that. On one hand, if Wayne didn't want him and decided to send him back to Mini Arkham, Dick would get to be with Nikolai again. But Dick's gut turned uneasily at the thought of going back for some reason. He didn't know what it was. It might have had something to do with soft bed, the easy days, the gentle touch and voice of Alfred, and even something about Wayne himself. Dick turned his mind away from the thoughts whenever they popped up.

It confused Dick so much. He constantly struggled to deal with all the thoughts and emotions twisting through him. Every night, alone in his bathroom, he'd stand in front sink and stare at himself in the mirror. His body would shake with the internal debate running through him. Alfred had asked him to stop. But he  _couldn't!_ It was too hard. There was too much to deal with. Dick's thoughts and emotions ran in a chaotic mess in his head, and he just wanted them to STOP! The small blade he'd taken with him from Mini Arkham would press into the tips of his thumb and forefinger as his hold tightened from the intensity of his thoughts. The feeling of pain dragging two small drops of chaos out of him always made the decision.

Dick wanted to groan and hide under the blankets. Ignore another day of uncertainty and chaos. Instead he stood up and took a quick shower before dressing in the godawful clothing the prep school required its students to wear. There was a white, button up, dress shirt; a red tie that Dick didn't have the slightest clue what to do with; a navy-blue blazer; a maroon and gold handkerchief that Dick also didn't know what to do with nor saw any need for; a pair of beige dress pants; a black, leather belt; black socks; and shiny black dress shoes. The entire outfit probably cost more than his family's trailer.

Dick walked out of his room, dressed in everything but the tie and handkerchief, which he carried in his hands.

He was glad the blazer had long sleeves. There was too much of a chance that Wayne would see the scars, especially with the bruises starting to fade away. That was the last thing Dick wanted.  _Wayne'll probably find a way to blame Nikolai for the scars_ , Dick thought bitterly.

Dick walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table. Wayne was already there reading the newspaper. Alfred was busy cooking at the counter. Dick looked away from the old man. He was unsure of himself now around the butler. Alfred knew about his cutting. He wanted Dick to stop. But he didn't tell Dick to just stop. He wanted to help.

Or at least he said he did.

_Is it real?_

Dick had yet to find the courage to ask the butler for help when the urge to cut had become too strong.

Dick turned his mind away from the old butler, keeping his eyes down when the man placed a plate of scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and bacon in front of him. Across from Dick, Wayne was pretending to read  _The Gotham Times_. His eyes were focused on the paper, but they weren't moving back and forth as a person's eyes normally would when they were reading. He was thinking deeply about something, then, Dick concluded. Something that troubled him, judging by the way Wayne's brow was furrowed and his eyes were narrowed.

Dick had noticed similar cues yesterday after they had left the doctor's office. They hadn't been there before seeing Dr. Leslie, though. It made Dick wonder what they had talked about. He knew from her discussion with Alfred that she hadn't told him about the cutting. But there were a lot of other things she could have told Wayne. Dick's heart thudded hard in his chest. Was that why the man had become so inexplicably distant since yesterday? Or was it because he was still upset with Dick about Nikolai? Dick's stomach was turning with all the things that Wayne could be angry at him about.

"Good morning, Master Richard!" Alfred greeted, placing a plate of delicious-smelling food at the center isle for Dick.

Dick sat down, placing the tie and handkerchief next to him on the counter. Breakfast passed in silence. Wayne barely even glanced up from his paper the entire time. When Dick finished his meal, Alfred took the pate away. With nothing else to do with his hands, Dick began fiddling with the tie, trying to find a way to ask for help without sounding useless.

Wayne stood up suddenly, startling Dick from his train of thought. The older man approached Dick, looking entirely too awkward for his usual disgruntled self. He crouched down slightly in front of Dick and began working the tie around Dick's neck, still not saying a word and refusing to make eye contact. When he finished with the tie, Dick's guardian started folding up the handkerchief and gently placed it in the left pocket of Dick's blazer.

Finished with the task, he stepped back a bit and cleared his throat gruffly. "I'll be driving you to school today." And then he left the kitchen.

Dick looked at Alfred, unsure. Alfred looked back, smiling but equally hesitant.

* * *

Dick sighed in relief as the boring class ended at the tone of the bell. He was at Gotham Academy, a kindergarten through twelfth-grade prep school that catered to the "bright, young children" of Gotham's elite. It was his first day here, and Dick already knew he was going to hate the next nine years of his life.

The classes were boring, the teachers were too cheerful, and the other kids were all stuck up, rich snobs.

At least the school day was over now.

Dick got up from his seat and headed for the crowded, noisy hallway with the rest of the students. Even in elementary school here, apparently, you had to travel from class to class and were given a locker. Dick had never been to a real school himself, but he knew this was not how normal elementary schools worked. "A way to prepare you for high school," he was told by the oh-so-proud principal. The guy hadn't stopped fawning over Wayne the entire time Dick's guardian was there to drop Dick off this morning.

Dick slammed his locker closed, his irritation at the horrible day seeping through. He grabbed his backpack off the floor and turned to leave the hallway, only to find that four boys now surrounded him. That was one of the reasons why Dick hated crowded places. There was too much noise and too many people around for him to know if someone was closing in on him.

The four boys were all between the ages of eight and twelve. They all wore the same uniform that all the boys had to wear here.

The oldest boy, and clearly the leader, was taller than Dick by several inches but had a scrawny build as oppose to Dick's lean one. The boy had short, neatly cut blond hair and green eyes. His face was round, still shaped by baby fat, and he had a long, thin nose. Freckles lightly dotted his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. His mouth was curled in an arrogant, self-assured smirk. By the malicious gleam in his eyes, Dick pegged him as one who found pleasure in other's pain and who actively sought it out.

Dick quickly glanced over the other three boys. Brown hair, hazel eyes, skinny as a twig. Brown hair, green eyes, even shorter than Dick. Blond hair, blue eyes, might have a stocky build when he's older.

None of them deserved his attention. They were lackeys, nothing more.

"So you're Bruce Wayne's new charity brat," the lead boy started in a cruel tone.

Dick wasn't surprised that the boy knew who he was. Almost every child (and adult) in the school had stared openly at him the entire day. It was another thing that had been grating on Dick's already abraded nerves.

Dick analyzed the boy in front of him. Several times, the other boys in Mini Arkham had tried to make Dick think they were going to taunt Dick first before they challenged him. And when he relaxed enough so that he wasn't prepared for the fight, they would suddenly attack. Dick had learned to watch body posture carefully to determine a person's real intentions. This boy's muscles were loose, relaxed. His posture spoke of arrogance. He wanted to taunt, not challenge. At least, for now.

Other kids were gathering around to watch. It was obvious from the tense atmosphere that something was going on. In Dick's experience, things like this tended to attract crowds. People liked to see others suffer. They weren't so keen on suffering themselves, but they were just fine watching others do so.

Dick didn't mind the crowd. Having this challenge in front of them would send two messages. One, don't mess with him if you were lower in the hierarchy than these idiots challenging him now. And two, if you were above these idiots, Dick was a force to be reckoned with.

The boy in front of Dick was obviously put off by Dick's lack of response. "Don't you have anything to say to that, charity brat?"

"Why would I?" Dick asked in an unconcerned monotone meant to make the boy think his previous words had had no effect. Dick had perfected this art in Mini Arkham.

The boy's mouth opened and closed like he didn't know what to do with it.

Dick was quite sick of this situation. If the boy wanted to challenge him, he should just get it over with. But the boy seemed to want to drag this out. Dick couldn't start the fight though. If he showed the other kids that he was the antagonist, they would actively go after Dick, seeing him as a direct threat to the hierarchy. If this other boy attacked Dick and Dick won the fight, then Dick raised his position in the hierarchy but didn't openly welcome challenges from the other kids.

Well, Dick knew one way how to make this other boy to get on with it. Shrugging his back pack onto his shoulder, Dick began to stride away from the four boys in front of him, purposely bumping into the lead boy on his way by. Just as Dick expected, the boy overcame his shock quick enough to grab Dick's wrist and pull him back into the small circle made of the boy's cronies.

"Did I say you could leave, circus freak?" the boy yelled.

_Maybe he thinks the louder his voice is the more intimidating he is._ Dick couldn't help but compare the pathetic child in front of him to Nikolai. It wasn't a kind comparison.

He decided to reply to this taunt, simply for the sake of moving this thing along. Really, Dick was just bored now. "You didn't say I couldn't." Again, his tone was bored and uncaring.

The other boy became red-faced. "Are you talking back to me, shortie?"

_Sooo original_ , Dick sighed in his mind. Sometimes (most of the time) he hated being short for his age. "I kind of have to, Blondie. It's not a conversation otherwise."

The kid was gritting his teeth now. "That's it. We need to teach you a lesson in respect. Get him!"

The other three boys started in on Dick. Dick's eyes widened in disbelief. This kid was seriously having his lackeys fight Dick in his place? If Dick had had any respect for the boy before this (he hadn't), he would have lost it just then.  _He can't even fight his own challenges. Pathetic._

The skinny one was the first to reach Dick. The boy made a poorly thrown punch for his face. Dick grabbed it and kicked the boy hard in the gut. He fell to the ground and stayed there.  _Pitiful._

The short one was next. He tried to kick at Dick's stomach but only managed to get his foot caught in Dick's hold. Dick twisted the boy's foot quickly, causing the boy to fall and land on his face, crying in fright.

Last was blond lackey. This one made a solid grab for Dick, trying to pin him and restrict his movement. It was a smart move, but the boy didn't have nearly as much experience fighting as Dick. Dick ducked fluidly under the arm and moved into the boy's personal space. He grabbed the boy's arm at the elbow and moved quickly behind the boy, pulling the arm hard behind its owner's back. The other boy cried out in pain. Dick shoved him forward into the lockers. The boy fell to the ground clutching his head.

Dick felt the presence behind him immediately. The oldest boy, the one in charge of these pathetic lackeys, had tried to sneak up on Dick and take him down while Dick was distracted. Dick spun quickly, catching the boy unaware as Dick swung a left-handed hook just under the boy's right pectoral. He followed through and up, finishing the rough hit to the boy's liver. The boy gasped out in pain, stumbling back away from Dick. Dick didn't stop. His next punch went right into the boy's now exposed left kidney. A debilitating punch to the throat followed. And a strong kick to the right kneecap finished him off.

The boy fell to the ground, gasping for enough air to sob in pain.

The hallway was dead silent.

* * *

Bruce sat in front of the Batcave's computer, going over his research on Tony Zucco. The man was slime, that was for sure. But Batman had yet to find any definitive proof of the man's involvement in the death of John and Mary Grayson. The threats the man had made to Haly were obviously incriminating but not nearly enough to put the man away. It didn't help that the man in question had all but disappeared since the Graysons' deaths. Batman was looking, but it was slow going.

Both Bruce and Batman felt like failures. They had made a pact to rid Gotham of crime so that no innocents would have to suffer anymore, so that no little boys had to watch their parents die in front of them. They had failed Dick in that regard. But at least they could find the man who killed the boy's parents and bring him to justice. If Zucco was involved after all.

Bruce had spent every free moment lately trying to find the man, but he was an elusive worm. Between searching for Zucco, working as Batman, and running Wayne Enterprises, Bruce had barely even slept in the last week.

A plate with a sandwich and a bowl of soup were dropped abruptly on the desk in front of Bruce. Bruce looked up, startled from his work to see Alfred standing there. How the man managed to sneak up on him,  _Batman_ , Bruce would never know.

"Your lunch, sir," the old butler said in his most formal tone.

Bruce winced internally. Alfred only used that tone when he was truly pissed at Bruce about something. He'd been acting this way all week. Bruce had no idea what he had done to anger his old friend, but clearly he had done  _something._

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce said, even smiling a little bit to ease the man's anger.

It didn't work.

Bruce turned back to his work, but he was deathly aware of Alfred's presence behind him. It made Bruce tense and nervous. He didn't know why, exactly. It wasn't like the old man would attack him or anything. Finally, after several minutes of not being able to work, Bruce turned to face the old butler. "What is it, Alfred?"

"What is what, Master Wayne?"

Bruce visibly winced this time. Alfred only called him "Master Wayne" when he had done something monumentally stupid. Now if he could only figure out what it was. He was supposed to be the world's greatest detective, but he couldn't understand why his own butler and long-time friend was upset with him. Maybe he should just ask? "What did I do to upset you?"

"Why would I be upset with you, Master Wayne?" That overly formal tone was stronger than ever now.

Well, that answered absolutely nothing. _Great. He wants me to figure it out for myself._ "Please, Alfred, just tell me what I did." … _Oh god. I've been reduced to begging._

Just then, the Manor phone rang. Alfred turned to retrieve the cordless they kept in the Batcave. "Wayne residence…I see. I will put him on immediately." Alfred, grim-faced, walked back over to Bruce and held out the phone. "It is for you, sir."

* * *

Dick sat in the uncomfortable chair in the principal's office. He was both angry and anxious, not that he let it show. Angry because he was being punished when the other boy, Jacob Kane, was the one who had challenged him. How was that fair? And anxious because he knew Wayne was coming to pick him up, and he knew the man would be furious with him.  _Will this be the final straw? Is he going to throw me out now?_  Dick didn't like the answers his mind came up with.

The door opened behind Dick, prompting the principal to finally stop trying to glare Dick into a pile of ash. The small secretary with the brunette ponytail, green eyes, and pale skin stuck her head into the office. "Mr. Wayne is here, sir."

"Good. Send him in." The principal's voice was a serious baritone. The flinty, grey eyes returned to Dick in warning as the man stood up, smoothing out the nonexistent creases in his navy suit as he did so. He was in his fifties and slightly balding. What hair he did have was brown and crafted into an absolutely terrible comb over. His build was slim with little muscle on it. He'd most likely been behind a desk his whole life.

Dick tensed visibly when he heard the quick steps of Wayne walking into the room behind him. They stopped just to Dick's left. He didn't look up, not even when Wayne's arm reached into Dick's view to shake hands with the principal. "Mr. Henry, it's good to see you again, although I wish it were under better circumstances and not quite so soon."

"Yes. Please have a seat, Mr. Wayne." The man's voice was stiff, uncertain. Dick could see that the man didn't want to get on Wayne's bad side, considering how powerful Wane clearly was, but at the same time, he had to do his job. And right now, that job involved punishing Wayne's ward.

_His charity case_ , Dick's mind supplied unhelpfully.

If Dick wasn't so anxious about Wayne's reaction to all of this, he might have laughed at the principal's unease.

Wayne and the principal sat down. Dick refused to look at the chair next to him. He didn't want to see who he knew was sitting beside him. His gaze stayed focused on a knot in the wood of the principal's mahogany desk in front of him.

"Please, call me Bruce." The words sounded amiable and sincere, but Dick could pick out the rehearsed nature of it. The tone changed, though, with Wayne's next words. "Now, what exactly happened, Mr. Henry?" Wayne's voice was stiff with an undercurrent of anger. Dick could actually feel the glare burning into the side of his head.

"The students were all in the locker rooms packing up at the end of the school day. Jacob Kane approached Richard to talk to him and welcome him to the school, when Richard attacked Jacob and three of his friends."

"That's a lie!" Dick yelled. He couldn't believe the crap this guy was spewing. He hadn't been there. "Kane grabbed me and told his lackeys to attack me. I was only defending myself."

The principal glared at Dick angrily. "That's not what Jacob told me. We talked. Right before the ambulance took him to the hospital. What reason would a nice boy like him have to lie to me?"

"How about the fact that he wanted to attack me? I don't think he would want to tell you that." The words were gritted out. Dick then changed his tone to be sickly sweet. "Tell me, Mr. Henry, do you frequently condone bullying in your school?"

"Richard, that is enough!" Wayne's loud voice made Dick cringe in his seat. The man was furious. "Apologize to Mr. Henry right now!"

Dick openly gaped at Wayne, finally turning to look at him. His mouth was thinned into a hard line, and his blue eyes were flashing with ire. Dick didn't really care anymore, though, how angry the man was. This was completely unfair! He spat back, "Why should I? I'm not sorry."

Dick swore he could see veins throbbing in the man's forehead. The words he spat out cut Dick like a dagger of betrayal in the chest. "You beat up four children, put one in the hospital, and have just insulted this good man's integrity. Apologize. Now."

Dick glared at Wayne, pain and anger eating him from the inside out. He turned away, facing the principal. Dick's gaze burned into the man's eyes. "I. Apologize."

* * *

Dick sat in the passenger seat of Wayne's black, two-seat Lamborghini. Wayne was speeding far over the speed limit on the way back to the Manor. If it weren't for the circumstances, Dick might actually be enjoying himself. As it was, the tense silence all but choked Dick with anxiety.

Dick knew he hadn't done anything wrong. But judging by the way that the other students, the principal, and Wayne had reacted, they all obviously thought differently. Dick had even been suspended from the shitty school for a week (not that he cared) and had been told that he was lucky that he got off so easy. It pissed Dick off. What gave them the right to tell him what he could and couldn't do?

At the same time, Dick was nervous about Wayne's reaction. He knew he had been skating on thin ice with the man since the doctor's visit. This might just have been the crack that would drop the ice out from under him and leave him in a freezing pool of nothingness once more. Dick's throat closed up at the thought. He didn't know why, but he didn't want to lose all this. Whatever "this" was.

They pulled up to the Manor, not having spoken a word since leaving the principal's office. Dick got out of the car, slammed the door behind him, and stormed up the steps to the front door. Wayne slammed his own door even harder, if that was possible. Dick ran into the house, past the butler, and up the stairs immediately.

"Master Richard––"

"Richard, go to your room. Now!"

Dick was tempted to scream back that he was already headed there, but his throat was tight, and he didn't want Wayne to know how the man's anger had affected him. He slammed the door when he got there and stood shaking inside his room. His eyes squeezed close, not wanting to see the world Wayne had provided him with. It was too painful for him at the moment, reminding him of the betrayal and grief now twisting in his stomach. The chaos flooded his veins and circulated his mind and body. It was too much. He had to get it out!

Dick opened his eyes and moved to the bathroom, his movements almost habitual. He stood in front of the mirror and pulled the small blade out from its hiding place under the counter. The blade twirled between his fingertips as he contemplated what he was about to do. He knew he shouldn't. Alfred would be upset, probably even angry. Just like Wayne. The thought only made it worse.

_They're going to kick me out. Put me out on the streets. I'm going to be alone all over again._  Dick remembered the look in Wayne's eyes. There was the anger, of course. But what had really hit Dick hard was the thing he had been denying until now: disappointment. For some reason, Dick couldn't stand that look. It made everything worse.  _I've ruined everything. I don't know how or why, but I did. They don't want me. I'm just an annoyance. A disappointment. How did I ever think leaving Mini Arkham would mean a real home and family again? How did I ever think Wayne would really want me? Nikolai was right. I'm all alone with no one to care about me. I'm just a_ _ **charity case.**_

The blade bit into his fingertips as those two words ran through his head. They hurt far more than the prick of the blade. Two drops of chaos were drawn out of him and dripped along the blade. The decision was made.

* * *

"I must say, Master Wayne, that was most irresponsible of you. That poor boy must be brokenhearted now. You must go talk to him immediately!"

Bruce was so pissed about this whole business that he wasn't the least bit cowed by the old butler's tone. He was pacing in the study, his steps brisk and angry. Alfred stood off to the side, watching him with the stoic face that proved his fury. "That  _poor boy_  just put Jacob Kane in the hospital."

"Are you angry because he harmed another child or because that child is Jacob Kane, sir?"

Bruce was taken aback by the question. "Because…because…" Bruce didn't know what to say. He was at a loss of words, for once in his life. "Because he can't just do something like this! He can't just beat up another child! And he's not even sorry that he did it, Alfred!"

"Why should he be?" the man asked in a perfectly reasonable tone. "From what you have told me, this is exactly how he should have reacted when he was in the Juvenile Detention Center. Why would he think he should react differently in this situation?"

Bruce's mouth opened and closed. He couldn't come up with a response. He settled lamely for, "This isn't the JDC!"

"But how was he to know the difference?" Bruce had no answer. "You know, Master Bruce, this boy needs a lot of help and care. He needs guidance and encouragement. What you just gave him, sir, is anger and disappointment with no good explanation as to why."

Bruce's shoulders slumped. He was lost, confused, unsure.

"I think, Master Bruce, that you need to seriously consider why you took this boy in. He needs you to be his father now––"

"I'm not his father, Alfred." Bruce's voice was hard, but it was out of a deeply embedded fear more than anything. Not that Bruce would admit that.

"Yes, sir, you are." When the butler saw that Bruce was about to protest, he continued, "How many legal documents did you sign in the last month, Master Bruce? Did you actually read any of them? Because each and every one of them claimed clearly that you are now this boy's foster father. You need to start acting like it, sir, because that boy needs a father."

"I–I can't…I don't…I'm no father, Alfred. I can't be that for Dick. But I can catch his parent's murderer and bring him to justice. That's what he needs from me. Not this 'father' idea you have."

Bruce turned away from the old butler and made his way to the Batcave's secret entrance in the study. He stepped inside the elevator shaft hidden behind the grandfather clock. He pretended not to hear his friend's parting words.

"I am afraid you are very wrong, sir."

* * *

The white porcelain sink was spattered with bright red blood. Dick stood there, staring into the mirror, as his arms dripped the last of his chaos out of his body. His mind was calmer now. The pain, the anxiety, the fear… They were all still there, just…muted. It was almost peaceful.

The knock at the door destroyed all that. "Master Richard, may I come in?"

The anxiety returned tenfold. Alfred!  _He'll be so angry. So disappointed. What do I do?_  It turned out he didn't have to decide. Alfred walked into the bedroom and quickly found his way to the bathroom, perhaps sensing what was going on.

Dick couldn't look at him. His heart pounded with a terrified intensity he couldn't begin to understand.

After a pause of no more than two seconds, Alfred walked over to Dick and guided him gently to the closed-lidded toilet seat. "Why don't we sit down right here, Master Richard. That's it." The warm hand on his shoulder disappeared as Dick sat down where prompted. He missed it the second it left him.

In his periphery, Dick saw Alfred pulled a large first-aid kit out of one of the cabinets and set it on the counter. Dick didn't see what the butler pulled out of it. He almost closed his eyes when Alfred knelt down in front of him. But he couldn't. He didn't want to see the disappointment and disgust in the old man's eyes, but for some reason he just couldn't make his eyes shut. He stared down at the countless lines on his forearms. Some were a month old. Some were several weeks old. Some were only a few days old. And some were still dripping blood onto the gleaming bathroom tiles.

Alfred cleaned, disinfected, and dressed the self-inflicted wounds with gentle, professional movements, as if he had cleaned the cuts on a young boy's arms many times before. When he was done with Dick's arms, Alfred quickly but efficiently cleaned up the floor of blood and trash. Then he stood back up and put away the first aid kit, the bathroom neat and tidy once more. Not a word was spoken the entire time.

_He didn't even say anything about the cuts from the last couple of days_ , Dick thought confused.  _Maybe he didn't notice._  But Dick didn't think that was the case.

Dick sensed a pair of eyes staring at him. Cautiously, nervously, guiltily, he looked up and met the gaze of the kindly old man. There was no anger, no disgust, no disappointment. The man's eyes were concerned and filled with a want to help. It made Dick feel both better and worse, and he didn't know why.

"Come now, Master Richard. Let's get you in bed, and you can just rest awhile." Dick was guided out by the warm hand on the small of his back. The covers were pulled back for him. Dick slipped out of his shoes and into the bed. Alfred pulled the covers over him and tucked him in. Then he began to gently stroke Dick's hair just as he had done on Dick's second day at the Manor. It immediately lulled and calmed him. Dick closed his eyes slightly at the peace that flooded his veins. He felt calmer now than he had been before Alfred had found him the bathroom.

They stayed like that for a long time. Eventually, when Dick didn't know if he was awake or asleep or someplace in between, Alfred stood up and said, "Rest now, Master Richard. I'll wake you in time for dinner." Then he exited the room, leaving a peaceful Dick in his wake.


	9. Chapter 9

Bruce walked rigidly across the Batcave to the glass case holding his Batsuit. Frustration still pumped through his veins. After an hour of following leads on the Batcomputer, Bruce had managed to dismiss Alfred's earlier words and had moved onto being angry about the day's events. He couldn't believe Dick would attack a kid like that! Bruce pressed his hand to the sensor on the case a little harder than necessary. But instead of the green light that normally accompanied the case opening, Bruce watched a red light flash.  _Huh?_  Bruce tried again and got the same result.

"Oh, that is not going to work, sir."

Bruce turned around quickly before trying to pretend that Alfred hadn't startled him. "What do you mean?" The day's irritations leaked out in his voice.

"I disabled it for the night." Alfred seemed entirely unconcerned about this.

Bruce's frustration quickly mounted. "Why?" he asked carefully.

"Because you are not going out as Batman tonight," Alfred answered as if it were obvious.

"I'm not?" Any Gotham villain would have recognized the tone Bruce used and taken caution in choosing their next words.

Alfred, however, was unconcerned. "No, sir."

"What am I going to do then?"

"You are going to go upstairs and talk to young Master Richard. Then you will both be attending dinner at six thirty." Alfred's tone brooked no argument.

Bruce let out a frustrated sigh. "What do you expect me to say to him, Alfred? He beat up another kid at school for no reason. He was only there for a day, and now he's suspended. What am I supposed to do with him?"

Alfred was silent for a long moment. "Have you ever considered, Master Bruce, that perhaps the young Master had a reason for doing what he did?"

"What do you mean?"

"From what you have told me about his time in the Detention Center, sir, Master Richard never attacked another boy unless provoked. Why would this be any different?"

Bruce became quiet, thinking it over.

"When you are done down here, sir, go talk to Master Richard. Dinner will be ready soon."

Several minutes after Alfred left, Bruce stood up and walked slowly to the Batcomputer. He easily hacked into the Gotham Academy security system and found the correct footage from earlier that day.

Bruce watched as an upset Dick slammed the door to his locker only to find himself facing four boys. Bruce recognized one of them as Jacob Kane. From the postures of each of the boys, Bruce knew they were there to cause trouble.

Apparently, Dick felt the same way from the cautious stance he adopted. Bruce frowned deeply at Kane's first words, expecting this to be when Dick attacked the boy. But Dick merely stood there, staring at the boy as if he was unaffected. Kane attempted to provoke Dick again to no avail. Dick replied in a monotone and started to walk away.

Bruce saw this for the calculated move it was. He recognized the look in his ward's eyes as one of planning and assessing, a look Bruce himself often wore. Kane didn't see it though. He took the bait and grabbed Dick, pulling him back to be surrounded by Kane and his friends.

Dick's replies to Kane's taunts changed now. They were calculated with the intention of irritating Kane. Dick was now the one trying to provoke.  _Why, though? Why did he want Kane to attack him?_  Bruce couldn't see a reason for it.

Kane finally snapped and sent his friends after Dick. Dick took them out in less than fifteen seconds. Bruce had a moment of fear when Kane came up behind Dick, but his ward must have sensed the boy because he spun around and…tore Kane apart. Four brutal hits, and Kane went down.

Bruce was stunned. He had known that Dick was a decent fighter from the JDC security footage, but the pure calculation of this attack was something different. Bruce didn't know what to think, but Batman was proud. Very proud.

Still slightly shocked, Bruce put the Batcomputer to sleep and headed upstairs to talk to Dick.

* * *

Dick laid curled up on his side under the heavy blankets. He was hugging Peanut, trying to understand the emotions that rested within him. To pick them apart before they tore him to pieces.

There was anger, for sure. Both Wayne and the principal were blaming him when he did nothing wrong! Wayne's reaction actually rang with the oddest sense of betrayal in Dick's mind. He had no idea why. It's not like it was the man's job to defend Dick. But some unknown part of Dick had been hoping that Wayne would believe Dick over that asshole of a principal.

Dick had also felt a strong undercurrent of ire that had been slowly building since Wayne had taken him out of Mini Arkham. Wayne had ripped him away from the life he knew and taken him into this unknown world. Then he had abandoned Dick, tossed him aside. It left Dick irritated and frustrated. He didn't know what to do or how to act, and then Wayne was pissed at him for acting the only way Dick knew how.

There was fear inside him as well, a sense of dread laced with panic. Wayne had been so furious since the principal's office. It had rolled off him in waves, making Dick's heart stutter with anxiety. The entire ride back to the Manor had been terrifying for Dick. He hadn't even known for sure if they were going back to the Manor, or if Wayne was just going to toss him back in Mini Arkham. After Wayne's yelling when they arrived at the Manor, though, Dick was sure the man was going to send him back to that place.

Dick didn't know why the thought upset him. He should be glad to be going back to Nikolai, but he wasn't. He didn't know exactly what he felt, but he knew he didn't want Wayne to kick him out. For some reason, he wanted to stay here, in the Manor, with Wayne and Alfred. But he knew that wouldn't happen. Wayne was tossing him out, bringing him back, and there was nothing Dick could do about it.

A knock on the door collided with Dick's thoughts. "Come in," he called quietly to Alfred. The old man must be checking up on him, or maybe it was time for dinner.

Dick didn't turn over to look as the door opened. He waited for the old, British voice to speak. Instead, he felt the bed dipped under him. Still, the butler didn't speak. Finally, Dick turned to look at Alfred.

Only it wasn't Alfred.

Dick almost fell out of the bed in his attempt to scramble off and away from the man sitting on the other side. Dick stood, glaring sullenly at Wayne. "What do you want?"

Wayne sighed. "I came here to talk."

"And if I don't want to talk?" Dick didn't know what to think of this. The man wanted to talk? Why now when he had barely even looked at Dick all week? Was this when the man would tell him that Dick was going back? That Wayne didn't want him anymore?

"Come sit down, Dick," the man said, patting the spot beside him on the bed.

Dick didn't want to move. How could he sit beside the man when he  _knew_  what conversation would follow? How could Dick just sit there and listen to the man tell him that this was all just a mistake and that he didn't really want Dick around? Even though Dick didn't know  _why_ , he did know that he didn't want to leave, didn't want to go back to Mini Arkham. He wanted to stay here, but he knew it wasn't going to happen.

Slowly, Dick moved to sit beside Wayne, knowing that the conversation would happen whether he sat or not. He kept his eyes down and played with his hands, unsure what to do with them. An awkward silence followed.

"Dick…" the man started in a hesitant voice. He stopped, seemingly unsure of how to continue.

The silence lengthened until Dick couldn't take it anymore. "You're bringing me back, aren't you?" He couldn't care less about how his voice cracked. His emotions were too raw right now. He futilely tried to ignore the pinpricks at the back of his eyes.

"Back? Back where?" Wayne asked, confused.

"Mini Arkham," Dick whispered out, a couple of tears escaping. He wiped them away quickly, not wanting to show that weakness in front of Wayne.

"Mini Arkham?…You mean the Detention Center?"

Dick nodded miserably.

"I…I'm not…" It took a moment for the man to find his words. "Dick, I'm not taking you back there!"

Dick finally looked up at the stunned tone.

"Why would you think that?"

It was clear from the man's voice that he hadn't been thinking anything of the sort. Dick didn't know what to think. He had been so sure that Wayne was kicking him out. Now he was left reeling from the emotional whiplash. "Because…because I fought that kid. And you were so angry. And you've been avoiding me. You've barely been here all week. You don't even want to come to your home because of me." Dick's voice was small, as if he thought saying it quieter would stop Wayne from hearing it. Because if he heard it, he might realize that he actually did want to kick Dick out.

Wayne was silent for a moment. "Dick, I…I'm…Dick, I'm sorry."

Dick looked up, stunned. What did Wayne have to be sorry about? "Why?"

"I haven't been treating you fair." Dick's eyes narrowed in confusion. "I took you out of the JDC and into a foreign world. I didn't tell you why you are here or how you are supposed to act. I abandoned you and left you to struggle on your own. And then I got mad at you when you reacted the same way you would have in the JDC. But I had never taught you any different. I made a mistake, and I am sorry."

Dick didn't know how to process what the man had said. Wayne was taking the blame for this? Why? Was it real? It seemed genuine, but did that really mean anything?

Wayne reached a hand out to Dick. "Would you like to start over?"

Dick stared into his eyes, reading sincerity. Then he looked at the large hand held out to him. His heart stuttered, but whether it was in hope or anxiety, Dick didn't know. As a kid, Dick had always been one to take the chance: to listen, to hope, to be optimistic. He always took the leap and never regretted it after, even if it ended badly, because he had at least tried and had the experience.

His parents' deaths and Mini Arkham had changed him, though.

He wasn't that little kid anymore.

Did he dare to be him again?

Cautiously, Dick stuck his hand out, silently glad for the long-sleeved shirt that hid the bandages Alfred had wrapped his forearms in earlier. Wayne firmly wrapped his larger hand around Dick's own. They shook. And Dick let out a small smile. The first real one he'd had in a lifetime.

* * *

The next two weeks were wonderful for Dick. At least at home. It felt so strange to call the Manor home now, but that's what it felt like most of the time. Everything was different from Dick's first week at the Manor. For one thing, Bruce was around more, especially during that first week when Dick was suspended. He even took a couple days off from work to spend time with Dick. He still disappeared at night sometimes but not nearly as often, as far as Dick knew. They always had breakfast and dinner together.

And they talked a lot. That was the major difference. Whenever they were together, they would be talking. Usually Dick held up the conversation, but he got the feeling that Bruce wasn't a very talkative guy by nature, so it was okay. He had never minded being the one to do all the talking.

They talked about a lot of things. Everything from what Bruce did for a living to why Dick had to attend Gotham Academy. That talk had ended with Bruce finding out just how smart Dick was and deciding to have Dick take an Academic Assessment Exam. It was scheduled for the first Saturday of next month, and it would decide what grade Dick belonged in. Dick had loved the flabbergasted look on the principal's face when Bruce had suggested this to him. It was clear that Mr. Henry hadn't though Dick had the capabilities to even handle third grade. Dick couldn't wait to show the guy just what he knew. Bruce was already proud, and Dick hadn't even taken the exam yet.

They also talked about their parents. Dick had been having a fit one night. A mass of pent up emotions had been erupting out of him, and he couldn't stop it. He'd been sobbing and screaming, anything to make the pain stop. Bruce had calmly held him through it, trying to calm him down and talk to him. Dick had finally yelled angrily, "You don't understand. How could you ever understand?" That was when Bruce had shown him the portrait of Thomas and Martha Wayne in the study. He had explained to Dick that he had watched his parents die when he was a kid, too. Dick slept in Wayne's bed that night, hugging the man tight so he couldn't leave like Dick's parents had and so he would know that Dick wouldn't leave like Bruce's parents had.

Bruce had also warned Dick to be careful around certain adults. He had told him certain things to look out for. Cameras, video and picture. People following him, being overly friendly, or "just wanting to talk." Dick had replied that his parents had already given him the "Don't Talk to Strangers" talk. Bruce told him that he was talking about the press. He said Dick was a high-profile figure now that Bruce had taken him in, and Bruce didn't want the press to attack him. Bruce said he had kept the press away as much as he could so far, but it was impossible to keep them away forever.

They talked for a while about why Dick had beat up Jacob Kane and the way he did it. Bruce had been very interested in learning his reasoning. Dick had thought it strange but nice. Bruce had seemed both concerned and proud, which confused Dick.

That discussion led to a very long conversation––to Dick it felt like a lecture––about what was and what wasn't acceptable behavior. There were a lot more Do Nots than Dos. He wasn't allowed to fight anyone. He wasn't allowed to talk back to teachers or the principal. And he certainly wasn't allowed to play on any of the chandeliers in the mansion.

Dick thought that was entirely unfair. But since both Bruce and Alfred had almost had simultaneous conniptions when they walked in the main foyer one day to find Dick hanging upside down from the, in Dick's opinion, really fun jungle gym of a chandelier, Dick had decided not to give either of them a heart attack and had agreed to stop playing on the chandeliers. At least when they were home.

But not everything in those two weeks was fun. Dick, having returned to school after his week of suspension was over, had found that quite a few bullies were ready for the chance to take him on. It would have been fine, if not tedious, with Dick if Bruce hadn't given him the "No Fighting" ultimatum. Finding out that Dick refused to fight back had only encouraged the bullies. Alfred's advice of "ignore them" really didn't work. Especially when Dick couldn't help but talk back.

Like now, in the empty hallway during lunch period, with his head aching from smacking back into the locker so many times and his air supply short from the hold Terence Harrows had on his tie. Still Dick couldn't help but gasp out, "You know, if you wanted to really do this right, you'd have my back to you and use your knee to keep me in place. Double the pain that way, you know?"

"Shut up, circus freak! You think anyone cares what you say? You're just a worthless, good-for-nothing,  _freak_  of a charity case!" The older boy's ugly face broke Dick's personal bubble, letting Dick smell the fetid breath of his tormentor.

"I've heard of a new invention you might like to try out," Dick started amiably. "It's called 'the toothbrush.' You can even use this really cool thing called 'toothpaste' with it. It's really quite––" Dick's head slammed back into the locker again, cutting off his words.

"No one cares what you say, freak! You're just a charity case. Wayne only took you in because it's good PR. He doesn't care about you. No one does. You think you're such a big-shot? You're not."

"Oh! The pain! The agony! How shall I ever go on?" Dick wailed sarcastically.

One more punch in his side, a muttered " _Freak_ ," and Terence dropped him. Dick let himself fall to the floor. He found that if he landed on his feet, the bullies just got more incensed and would attack him again. Dick waited for Terence to leave the hallway before standing up and grabbing his black backpack.

Dick made his way quickly to the bathroom. He stood in front of the mirror and raised his shirt. A half-dozen bruises currently marked his torso, and he knew at least another three would blossom by tonight. Dick was just thankful that the bullies typically stuck to places his clothing covered. Explaining this to Bruce would be difficult. Dick knew Bruce was inflexible on the whole "No Fighting" thing, so there was nothing to be done anyway.

Dick let his shirt drop and stared into his own eyes. No one else was in the bathroom, so Dick allowed the pain to flash across his face, watching his reflection feel the same. It wasn't really the bullies' words that hurt. It was that they reminded him so heavily of what Nikolai had said that day when Bruce had first visited him. Nikolai had told him he wouldn't have a real family, that Bruce only wanted the publicity, that he was just a charity case and no one wanted him.

_But that's wrong, isn't it? Bruce does care for me. He and Alfred are my family now. Aren't they?_ Dick watched as tears formed in his reflection's eyes. His reflection wiped them away angrily.

_How could Nikolai be wrong?_  another voice asked in his mind.  _Nikolai's never wrong._

Dick shuddered. What was the truth? Did Bruce care about him? Or did Dick only have Nikolai, like the older boy said all that time ago?

_No! Bruce cares about me. He said so!_  Dick yelled back at the voice, adamant.

_Then why doesn't he want you to talk to the press? He must be keeping them away from you for a reason._

_It's because he doesn't want them to hurt me!_  Dick refuted.  _He wants to keep me safe. He told me that._

_And he couldn't possibly have lied, right?_  The sarcasm in the voice made Dick's reflection cringe.  _More likely he just doesn't want you saying anything to the press until he thinks you're ready._

_Ready?_

_Until you behave the way he wants you to. You know: not fighting with others, not talking back. He doesn't want you to make him look bad. Just you wait, he'll put you in front of the camera soon enough. You've been doing a marvelous job of conforming to his rules, after all._

_No! He cares about me! He does! He's just trying to protect me!_ Dick's reflection looked like it was ready to cry again. Pain twisted its features into something almost unrecognizable. Only, Dick did recognize it. His reflection in the washroom mirrors at Mini Arkham had often looked like this. So did his reflection some nights in front of the mirror in his bathroom at the Manor.

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Dick opened his backpack and pulled the lunchbox out of it. He tossed its contents in the trash as he did every day so Alfred wouldn't know how he spent his lunches. With one last look at his now stoic reflection, Dick made his way to class.

* * *

Dick's fists slammed furiously into the punching bag. All his pain, all his anger, he let it all out on the large, black bag hanging from the ceiling in Bruce's workout room. He hit the bag as hard as he could, knowing that he would have broken some bones by now if this thing had been a real person.

Dick came to this room after every school day. Dealing with the boring classes, the frustrating people, and the irritating bullies left Dick feeling empty and broken. Destroying the punching bag let him feel the anger and pain of the day without breaking Bruce's rules. It had actually been Bruce's suggestion. Dick didn't think Bruce knew just how often he used the punching bag, though.

After roughly an hour of whaling on the bag, Dick dried his face off with a towel and put the navy blazer back on. He didn't bother righting the tie or buttoning the white shirt all the way back up. Grabbing his backpack, Dick left the room and headed up to his bedroom, still angry at the day.

He didn't expect to run into anyone. Alfred was downstairs making an early dinner, something about Bruce having a meeting. And Bruce was usually still at work at this time. That's why he was surprised to hear voices talking in Bruce's study. Dick made his breathing shallow and walked on silent feet down the carpeted hallway. He stopped just outside the door and listened in.

He recognized one voice easily. It was Bruce. The other one he didn't know. That was odd in itself. Bruce never had anyone over. It was only ever Bruce, Alfred, and Dick in the house. So who was this other person? The voice was male and deep.

"Bruce, I'm just saying this might not have been the best idea." The other voice seemed tired, like they had been arguing this for a while.

"And I'm just saying, Clark, that I didn't ask for your opinion," Bruce's words were dismissive.

"Bruce…"

"Clark…"

"Master Richard, if you would like to be a part of this conversation, perhaps you should try not doing it through a door." Dick nearly jumped a foot off the ground when Alfred spoke calmly––and loudly––behind him.

Conversation in the study stopped. Alfred opened the door and ushered Dick inside, then closed it behind him. Dick stood there awkwardly as the two men stared at him. Bruce was leaning back against his desk, arms crossed. The other man stood in front of him, now facing Dick.

The other man was large, slightly bigger than Bruce. Dick didn't know why the guy even tried to hide his massive, muscled frame behind the simple, gray suit. Besides the large body frame, though, he was mostly nondescript. Very much the type to just blend into the background, Dick thought. He had short black hair, neatly styled above a broad forehead. A pair of glasses sat on a Roman nose in front of baby blue eyes. His currently shocked face ended in a strong, wide chin.

"How did…?" the man murmured so quiet Dick could barely hear it.

"You weren't focusing," Bruce said calmly back to the man. He stood up straight and turned to his ward. "Dick, I'd like you to meet a good friend of mine. This is Clark Kent."

The other man, Clark Kent, seemed to get over his surprise and held his hand out towards Dick. Dick walked up to him slowly and shook his hand.

Something about the man's name bothered Dick. He had heard it before.

No, he had seen it! Bruce read a ton of newspapers every morning. One of them was the Daily Planet. Dick explicitly remembered seeing the name Clark Kent as the author of several articles.…  _Author… He's a reporter! Bruce is introducing me to a reporter._

Dick's thoughts were slow, not wanting to comprehend this new event. But when Dick's mind flashed back to his day at school, he no longer had any choice. He knew exactly what this was. Bruce had finally decided that Dick was well behaved enough to talk to the press. To tell them what a great man Bruce was.

_It really was all about the publicity,_  Dick thought.  _He doesn't care about me. I'm just a charity case!_

Dick ripped his hand out of the reporter's. He turned to Bruce, furious and in pain. "This is what it was all about?" he yelled, unable to contain himself anymore. "You took me away from Nikolai. You brought me to this place. You told me you cared! It was all just a lie so you could put me in front of the press! That's all I am to you, isn't it? A charity case! I hate you, you bastard! You should have left me with Nikolai!" Dick's voice was breaking as he screamed, and tears were flowing unchecked down his face. Dick spun around and ran out of the room.

He sprinted into his room and headed straight for the bathroom. There wasn't even a moment of hesitation this time. Dick grabbed the blade from its hiding place and made the first cut. It didn't help. Everything was too raw. Dick couldn't think. Pain and grief consumed him.

He cut again.

And again.

Nothing helped.

Dick couldn't stand it! He had let himself be fooled by Wayne. How could he have let that happen? Nikolai had told him Wayne wouldn't care. He had told Dick that he wouldn't have a real family here. That he would be alone in the world with no one to care for him. Why hadn't he listened to Nikolai?

Wayne only took him in for the publicity. He was just a charity case. Dick had let himself be fooled by the man. Let himself believe the lies because they were what he wanted to hear. But that's all they were. Lies!

Dick was alone.

No one wanted him.

Everything that had happened since his parents' deaths flashed through his head. It all swirled in a maddening whirlpool of chaos. He couldn't understand. He couldn't get away. He just wanted to get away!

_Alone!_

Nikolai's words echoed in Dick's head. He punctuated it with a cut much deeper than the others. The physical pain of it finally broke through the chaos in his mind.

_Worthless!_

He made another one.

_Pitiful!_

And another.

_Unloved!_

And another.

_Charity case!_

This one was the deepest cut of them all.

Dick dropped the blade and fell to the floor. He couldn't stand anymore. His legs wouldn't hold him. His vision began to go black. There was a roaring in Dick's ears that he hadn't noticed before. It made a thud-thud sound. But it was dim, soft. As the black took over his vision entirely, Dick decided that he liked the sound. It was nice, peaceful.

And then it was gone.

* * *

Bruce ran up the steps quickly. He didn't understand at all what had just happened. One moment, he was introducing Dick and Clark; the next, he was watching his ward––clearly in pain––scream at him and run out of the room. Bruce had asked a stunned Clark to leave before chasing after Dick.

Bruce knocked on the door. "Dick? Dick, please let me in.…Dick? This isn't what you think. Clark's not here as a reporter. It's true he works for the Daily Planet, but he's a good friend of mine. He wasn't here as a member of the press." There was no answer from inside the room.

Bruce was getting worried now. Had he somehow managed to hurt his ward so much that Dick wouldn't even talk to him? They had been getting along so well lately. Bruce really liked Dick. The kid had a natural spunk and wit to him. Just seeing the kid every day made Bruce happier. The entire Manor was brighter with the little ball of energy running around. Now Bruce feared he had done something to ruin all that. He had to make this right!

"Dick, if you don't answer the door, I'm coming in on my own. We need to talk, and I'm not going to do it with a door between us.…Fine, I'm coming in." Bruce opened the door, frustrated with the boy for being so stubborn.

Bruce looked around but couldn't find Dick. His ward wasn't anywhere in the large room. Bruce's eyes landed on the open bathroom door. An unknown fear caused his heart to stutter. He slowly made his way over to doorway. What he saw inside had him rushing for the nearest phone at top speed.

Inside the bathroom, crumpled in a large puddle of ruby blood was a very pale Dick, resting peacefully with his eyes closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all like cliffhangers, right?


	10. Chapter 10

The small, eight-year-old boy was almost whiter than the hospital sheets he laid on. His paleness was only accentuated by the mop of black hair atop his head. His features were relaxed, his eyes closed. If Bruce only looked at the boy's face, he could almost convince himself that Dick was in a peaceful slumber.

But his eyes inevitably fell to the boy's arms, laid out on top of the sheet. Sterile white bandages were wrapped around his left forearm. Bruce knew that the bandages hid rows upon rows of small, neat scars. The same ones were clearly visible on the right forearm, which was undamaged from the boy's recent…incident. The left forearm housed many deep, jagged cuts that were brand new and the reason for the boy being here in the hospital.

Where the bandages didn't cover, numerous tubes were inserted into his arms to help replace body fluids, minerals, red blood cells, platelets, and plasma. The boy had lost a lot of blood by the time the ambulance arrived at the Manor. Even after the blood transfusions, he hadn't been out of the woods until now, three days later.

Bruce hadn't taken a steady breath since finding Dick lying…like  _that_ …in his bathroom. He doubted he'd be able to do so until the boy woke up. Bruce couldn't believe how close he'd come to losing his ward for good. Finding the boy…like that…had put Bruce into a panic he hadn't known himself capable of. The vigilante was used to remaining calm, being the sensible one in every situation. But…when he walked into Dick's bathroom…and saw his boy…just lying there…in all that blood… There had been so much blood. Bruce hadn't understood how so much blood had come out of his little boy, how Dick could still be alive with all that blood on the floor.

Bruce still didn't understand why Dick affected him the way the boy did. He was just a child. Yes, they shared a traumatic experience, and Dick was great to be around. But he was still just some kid. Bruce shouldn't have been so beside himself with worry and grief for the last three days. He shouldn't have been thinking about never coming down to breakfast to see Dick sheepishly holding out the tie and handkerchief he still couldn't figure out for his school uniform. Or never watching Dick surf down the stair railings to greet him when Bruce came home from work. Or never seeing Dick use every piece of furniture in the Manor as his own personal jungle gym. Never listening to him talk for hours on end. Never hearing him laugh again. Never seeing Dick smile again.

But he was. He was thinking about all of this and more. Because the pale, little boy lying in the hospital bed in front of Bruce meant more to him than words could express. The Manor had been a quiet, dull place before Dick, and Bruce hadn't even realized it. Until Dick, Bruce hadn't thought anything was wrong with his life. But now he couldn't imagine going back to the way things were before the little ball of energy Dick brightened the whole Manor and all their lives just by being there. And now Bruce didn't want to go back to the dark. He couldn't go back.

Bruce tightened his grip on the boy's pale, little hand and growled out, "What. Do. You. Mean. You.  _KNEW?_ "

"I saw the scars when I was giving him the physical, Bruce. I called Alfred that night."

Bruce didn't turn around in the chair to look at them. He didn't think he'd be able to control himself if he looked at them right now. This betrayal cut deep. "Neither of you told me about this. Why?" Each word had to be pulled out of him. He was so furious, he didn't know how he managed speech at all.

"Master Bruce, we thought it would be best––"

Bruce finally stood up and turned on them, still holding Dick's fragile hand. "Is this  _best,_  Alfred? Is this what you call  _best_?" The word was spit out, an offense. The old man looked ashamed, as did Leslie, but it didn't satisfy Bruce in the least.

Because of these two, Bruce hadn't been there for his boy. And now Dick was two steps from death. "You told me I was his father, but you treat me like a child! How can I take care of my son if I don't know everything?" Bruce tried his best not to yell; he didn't want to disturb Dick. But Bruce was so angry about this, he couldn't stop himself.

"He asked us not to tell you, Bruce," Leslie told him quietly. As if that excused all their actions.

"He tried to kill himself!" Bruce shouted. "And you don't think I should have been aware it was even a possibility?"

"I don't believe this was a suicide attempt, sir," Alfred began.

"I found him! I…I found him…like that." Words failed at the thought of finding Dick in the bathroom. As long as he lived, he would never forget that scene. "You can't tell me he wasn't trying to kill himself," he whispered.

"I don't think he was suicidal, Bruce," Leslie told him quietly. Bruce narrowed his eyes, but whether in confusion or anger, he didn't know. "I talked with him when you brought him to me. He didn't say much. But I got that much out of him."

Bruce sat heavily in the chair again, turning away from the others. Still holding Dick's hand, Bruce used his free one to stroke the boy's black hair back. His hand stroked down Dick's face. "Then why?" he whispered, not sure if he was talking to Leslie and Alfred or to the little boy lying there in front of him.

"It happens a lot, Bruce. A kid just starts out cutting to make the pain go away. But then, one day, they cut too deep. It happens more than you would think."

Bruce leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Dick's hand. "Please, leave us." Not another word was spoken as Alfred and Leslie exited the room. The only sound left was the regular beeping of the heart monitor. Bruce's shoulder's slumped. "I'm sorry, Dick. This is all my fault. I'm so sorry." Bruce was supposed to be the world's greatest detective, but he couldn't figure out that his own son was cutting himself. He couldn't understand how Dick was feeling. He couldn't foresee how he would react to Clark.  _I should have seen…should have known…_

Bruce didn't know how he could ever make this up to Dick. He had made so many mistakes with Dick from day one. How would the boy ever forgive him?  _He won't. He can't. I've hurt him too much._ Bruce knew he didn't deserve Dick's forgiveness. But he wanted it. He wanted so badly to be able to start over with his ward…his son. But they'd already tried that, and Bruce had failed again. He had failed Dick, and he would not get a third chance. No one was that forgiving. Fear and grief gripped his heart.

He couldn't lose his boy.

* * *

Dick didn't like the constant beeping. It irritated him. He wanted it to go away. He was uncomfortable enough as it was. His arms ached, especially his left one. It was almost a burning sensation. His head was pounding. His throat and mouth were dry. He felt so weak, like he couldn't move if he tried.

Something was wrong with his room, too. It was colder than it usually was. His blankets weren't as warm or as heavy. His bed was uncomfortable. He didn't understand it. When had his room changed? And why?

Slowly, tiredly, Dick opened his eyes. He didn't understand the sight that met him. He was in a medium-sized, white room. The floor tiles, the walls, the ceiling, the sheets on the uncomfortable bed; they were all white. Dick caught sight of all the tubes coming out of his arms. They pinched uncomfortably into his skin. He didn't like them. He wanted them out. He tried to move his right hand to pull the tubes out of his left arm first. But his arm wouldn't move. Confused, he examined his arm closer. There was a cloth-lined, Velcro restraint around his arm holding it to the bed rail. He looked at his left arm. It had the same thing on top of the white bandages that covered his entire forearm.  _What the heck?_

Dick looked up again. This time he saw Bruce barely resting in the chair pulled up next to the bed. He looked bedraggled. His hair hadn't been combed or his face shaved recently. His normally pristine clothes were wrinkled, his shirt was unbuttoned at the top, and his suit jacket and tie were draped over the chair back. His face was lined with worry, and it looked like he hadn't slept in days.

_Why––_ and then he remembered. Terrance Harrows, the school bathroom, coming home, the reporter, running upstairs, his bathroom, cutting himself. Dick looked at his arm and then around the room again, realizing that he was in a hospital.  _How deep did I cut?_

_Deep enough to wash away the pain,_  another part of his mind answered.

Dick didn't like that. He didn't like this. If he was in the hospital, then it had been really serious. He must have cut deep, almost too deep. He could have died. He didn't want to die.  _I have to be more careful._

Dick turned to study Wayne, not knowing what to think about the man now. The last two weeks had been so great, a happy period in the horror his life had become. Dick had thought that Wayne cared for him, perhaps…loved him? And Dick had loved the man in return. He had thought his life was finally changing for the better, that he was past the horrors and could finally move on to happier times. But it had only been a reprieve, a temporary moment of peace in the eye of the storm.

Dick didn't understand how he could have been so easily fooled. He had thought Wayne was sincere, that he really did care for Dick. All the time they spent together, the words they shared, the memories they made; they would haunt Dick for a long time to come.

It was all a lie, and that hurt more than anything.

A part of Dick didn't want to believe that, though. A part of him still wanted to believe that Bruce cared for him, that it had all been real. But if he believed that, the betrayal was all the worse. Better to believe it all a lie than to think Wayne would exploit someone he actually cared for. Dick didn't want to live in that world, where every day was a confusion of being loved and being hurt and not knowing what was real.

Wayne's eyes blinked open and immediately focused on Dick. He startled upright and grabbed Dick's unwilling hand. "Dick, you're awake! I'll get the doctor!"

The man was excited, almost…happy. Dick didn't understand why. Was it just because Wayne wanted his charity case out in the public eye again? Or maybe it was bad publicity for his charity case to be in the hospital after slitting his own wrists, and Wayne was glad Dick could finally get out of the place? Dick didn't know. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. But there was one thing he needed to understand…

"Why?" Dick's question halted Wayne before he could open the door. Wayne turned to give him a quizzical look. "Why me?" Wayne only seemed more confused. Dick explained further, "I understand everything else: you taking me in, 'bonding' with me, the reporter. But why me? There are hundreds of kids in this city alone you could have chosen from, but you chose an orphaned circus brat that could only find a place in Mini Arkham.  _Why?_ "

Wayne carefully made his way back to the chair by Dick's side. He sat down and began calmly, "I don't think you understand what you think you do. But I'll start by answering your question, and we can work from there."

Dick stared at the man in confusion. What could Dick possibly not understand about the situation? It all seemed pretty clear to him. He decided to listen to what the man had to say, nonetheless.

Wayne took a short moment to gather his thoughts. "I've told you about my parents, about what happened to them when I was your age. So I guess it's obvious that when I saw what happened that night at the circus, I could immediately relate to what you were going through. I knew the pain you were suffering from. I knew the confusion and disbelief you were experiencing. I knew how hard it was going to be for you." He paused for a moment. "When I saw you that night, I saw something of myself in you. And I wanted to protect you. I wanted to give you the chance to be a better person than I turned out to be.

"When my parents were murdered, I had Alfred. He was there for me. He helped me through those dark days. But you had no one. And when Child Protective Services sent you to the Detention Center, I knew I had to do something. I couldn't just sit back anymore.

"It took an entire month to get the paperwork through, even with all of the money I gave the departments to speed up the process. I checked in on you with the Detention Center constantly. I hounded their phones. I thought you were being taken care of, at least as much as they were capable. I was infuriated to learn what you really went through in there. Especially what the Bolkov boy did to you."

Dick's lips thinned into a tight line at the mention of Nikolai, but he didn't say anything.

"Your first week in the Manor, I wasn't avoiding you so much as I was avoiding my responsibilities to you. Both Leslie and Alfred were telling me that you needed a lot of help, that they were unsure if I had what it took to really take care of you. They were pushing me to step up and do what you needed me to do. But in trying to push me towards you, they pushed me away." Wayne paused and looked at Dick intently, seemingly trying to make him understand. "I was scared. I was suddenly your foster father, and I had no idea what that meant. I got scared and ran. I was blind, so blind, to what I was doing to you…

"Ultimately, it was you who set me straight." Dick narrowed his eyes in confusion. Wayne smiled back. "When I got the call from the school telling me you got in a fight with Jacob Kane, I was furious and unfair with you. It was the first time I really had to act as your parent, and I completely failed at it. I convinced myself I wasn't at fault and prepared to run again. But Alfred wouldn't let me. He told me I had to go talk with you. I was hoping to give you a short lecture and go back to running.

"But then I walked into your room and saw you…really saw you. You were just a hurting, little boy doing your best to deal with an unkind world, the same as I had been when I was your age. You didn't know where you stood or what was expected of you. And that was my fault. I made so many mistakes with you, and I hadn't even had you for long. I didn't expect you to forgive me, but you proved yourself a better man than myself and chose to start over with me.

"For two weeks I was able to be a good father. I got to know what a great kid you are. I came to care about you as my own child. And I saw how wrong I was about you. When I first saw you at the circus, I thought we were the same. But we're not. You're so much more than I could ever be."

Wayne paused. "Then I got a call from Clark––"

"The  _reporter_ ," Dick spat out. He had sat there quietly through the longest speech he had ever heard Wayne give. He had listened and even taken some of it to heart. But he refused to let Wayne pass off  _Clark Kent_  as anything but a reporter looking for a good story on Wayne's new charity case.

"No, Dick," Wayne tried to tell him.

"He's a reporter! I know it! I've seen his articles in the newspapers you read!"

"Yes, he's a reporter," Wayne conceded. Dick relaxed slightly. "But he's also a good friend." Dick narrowed his eyes. "He heard about me taking you in and wanted to talk to me about it. He was concerned. He wasn't there for an article. He didn't even expect to meet you.… I care about you, Dick. I've been working very hard to keep the press away from you because I don't want you to have to deal with the way they attack you and twist your words and try to break you down. I don't want you to have to be afraid to go out in public in case the press attack or have to avoid the stares of everyone around you because of some article a nasty reporter published. I don't want you to have to see a story printed about you that twists your own sense of self-worth. I don't want you to question yourself because of what other people are saying about you. I want to protect you.

"Dick, I really do care about you. More than I've cared about anyone since I was a little kid myself. You've changed me in ways I didn't know I could change. I'm so glad to have you in my life.… I know you can't possibly forgive me. I've made so many mistakes. But I want you to know how sorry I am. You deserve so much better."

Dick stared hard at the man. Everything the man had said was circulating his head on a continuous strip, but one thing stood out at the front. "Am I a mistake?"

Wayne's eyes widened, obviously not expecting this question, but his answer was firm. "No. No, Dick. I've made countless mistakes  _with you._ But you could  _never_ be a mistake." Dick was forced to look away from the intensity of the man's gaze.

Dick was quiet for a long time. He didn't know whether he should believe Wayne or not. Everything the man said seemed to make sense. And if Kent really was Wayne's friend and if he had really been there only to talk to Wayne as a friend, then Dick could believe that Wayne did care about him. That everything the man had said and all the things they had done together were real.

But could he believe?

He wanted to. He wanted to so badly. But if it turned out Wayne was lying all over again…Dick didn't know if he could recover from that betrayal.

Dick looked at Wayne, really looked at him. The man was tired and disheveled. His clothes were wrinkled and out of sorts. He clearly needed to shave…several days ago. He looked like he hadn't slept in that same amount of time. He had dark smudges under his eyes and…worry written across his features? He was there when Dick woke up…. But what did that mean?

He had given the man a second chance already that night when they had had their first real talk. That chance had ended when Dick found a reporter in the Manor. If Wayne's words were true, then that had been partly Dick's fault, but it still left a scar that would not be easy to get over. Would the man honor another chance? Did Dick dare to offer it to him? Did he dare to take the leap?

Carefully, cautiously, he asked, "How do I know that anything you've told me is the truth? How do I know this isn't all just another lie?"

Bruce contemplated what Dick had said for a short moment. "How about this?" He leaned forward and released the restraints holding Dick's arms to the hospital bed. Then he reached down into a black bag by his feet Dick hadn't noticed before. When he pulled his hand out again, it held Peanut. Bruce set the small stuffed elephant in Dick's arms. "From here on out, whenever Peanut is the room, we both agree not to lie to each other."

Dick weakly pull Peanut close with one hand and stroked its head with his other, careful not to tangle the many tubes coming out of his arms. He quickly analyzed the situation. Bruce had released his arms, a show of good will. It was clear the man was still afraid of what Dick might do, but his actions showed that he was willing to trust Dick.

Then he gave Dick Peanut, showing how well he knew Dick with a token of compassion. He knew Dick drew comfort from the stuffed animal, that Dick saw it as one of his last connections to his parents and his missing childhood. He understood that Dick would want Peanut and had thought to bring the small creature to the hospital for Dick.

Dick saw Bruce's actions as the reach of trust that they were. He recognized it as a leap of faith on both sides.  _If Bruce can take the leap, then so can I._ Dick gave a small, hopeful smile, looked up at Bruce, and held out his hand. "Third time's the charm?"

Bruce gave a relieved and surprised smile and grasped Dick's hand firmly. "Would you like to start over?" he asked Dick, echoing his words from the last time.

"No," Dick replied. Bruce looked shocked, worried. Dick hurried to continue, "I don't want to start over because I don't want to lose the last two weeks. I don't want to lose everything we shared."

Bruce smiled again, still holding Dick's hand. "Then, how about we move on with a new understanding and a promise to trust each other?"

Dick smiled brighter and shook Bruce's hand. "To moving on."

Bruce's smile matched Dick's. "To moving on."


	11. Chapter 11

Holding the rail firmly, Dick moved a shaking leg forward and down to the next step. His leg wobbled when he put his weight on it but thankfully held. Moving his hands forward one at a time, Dick moved his other leg to the next step. Dick paused to catch his breath and give his body a chance to rest. Looking up, he counted the steps he'd already managed.  _Thirteen. Only another sixteen to go._

Facing forwards again, Dick gripped the rail as tight as his weak hold could manage and moved his left leg forward. As he shifted his weight to lift his right leg, the left one gave out beneath him. Dick's body lurched forwards in a free fall even as he scrambled for the railing, his heart jumping in his chest. His hands missed their goal, and his body tumbled down the steps, landing with a heavy thud at the bottom.

"Dick!" The frightened yell could be heard from six rooms away.

Dick straightened out his limbs and tried to catch his breath. Nothing hurt too bad, except maybe his pride. But he figured he'd survive that. He was just grateful the stairs were carpeted.

Bruce rushed into the room and knelt by Dick. His hands roamed over Dick frantically while Bruce berated Dick worriedly. "What were you thinking? You're supposed to be in bed. The doctor said you could only leave the hospital if you promised to stay in bed for a week. You're still too weak from the blood loss. What were you thinking!"

Dick feebly pushed Bruce's hands away. He wasn't injured; there was no reason for Bruce's panic. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he all but whined. Bruce had been mother-henning him since before they'd even left the hospital. "I just wanted to move around a bit."

Bruce finally stopped his anxious fretting and helped Dick to sit up. "The doctor said you had to stay in bed for at least another week."

"I know," Dick groaned, falling back dramatically to lie on the ground again. "But it's so  _boring!_ "

Bruce chuckled a little.

Dick smiled up at him. He liked Bruce's laugh. Making theatrical hand gestures, he continued, "I'm not meant to lie around all day. I was almost born on the trapeze. Literally! Mom told me her contractions started right after they finished a performance. She wasn't performing, of course. But she was helping Dad from the platform. Dad said even then I refused to stop the show for anything."

Dick's smile wavered. He hadn't really talked about his parents except for a few short conversations with Bruce here and there. It was kind of…nice talking about them again. And that made him feel guilty.

Dick sat up and looked at Bruce. "Is it bad to think about them…my parents, I mean…and be…?" Dick paused and looked away, unsure if he should continue. Would Bruce be disgusted by him?  _What kind of son could be happy about his parents after they died?_

Dick almost jumped when Bruce enfolded Dick's hands in his own. "Happy?" the man finished for him. Dick's eyes returned to Bruce's, stunned, guilty. "Dick, it's perfectly normal to be able to look back and be happy. Do you think your parents would want you to be sad whenever you think about them? No. They'd want you to remember the good times, to remember the best of them and be happy." Bruce tilted Dick's head up with a hand to his chin. "Do you understand that, Dick?"

Slowly, Dick nodded his head.

"Good. Then how about we stand up because I have something to show you." Bruce got on his feet before holding his hands out to Dick. Dick grasped them and let Bruce pull him up. They slowly made their way through the hallways, Bruce hovering like the helicopter parent he was quickly becoming. He even had his hand on Dick's back in case he stumbled.

Bruce had been so attentive to Dick since he had woken up in the hospital. It made Dick feel…he didn't know… He was confused. Was Bruce only acting like this because of Dick's incident? Did the man only care because he felt responsible for pushing Dick to that edge? Dick didn't think that was it. Bruce had been nice before the incident. He had cared about Dick before it happened. Then did Bruce truly care about him like the man said? Dick wanted to believe that so badly. He wanted Bruce to care about him…love him…  _Perhaps…,_  he thought, looking up at Bruce,  _like a son…_

Dick's mind simultaneously craved and rebelled against that thought. His heart wanted it like nothing else. But his mind protested the grave betrayal to his parents such a thought implied. How could he even think something like that? They would be so hurt and disgusted if they knew what he was thinking.

_They would be hurt and disgusted by a lot of things I've thought and done._  Dick pulled at his sleeves the smallest bit, unconsciously trying to make them cover his forearms more than they already did.

Bruce noticed the motion and stopped walking immediately, forcing Dick to halt. Dick looked up in confusion. They were in the middle of a hallway with no doors nearby.  _What does Bruce want to show me here?_  Dick's confusion was cleared up when Bruce held out his hands, palms up. Dick squirmed, uneasy, but nonetheless pulled up his sleeves to his elbows and laid his wrists in Bruce's palms. He'd made a promise to Bruce, and he had to live up to it.

Dick didn't look at Bruce or his arms. He knew there was nothing new for Bruce to find, so the man wouldn't be upset with him. Dick just didn't want to see the scars, the new ones. The cuts he'd made that put him in the hospital had been deep, very deep. They were uneven and unorganized. They formed ugly fault lines across his skin. Dick didn't like them or what they implied.

Bruce let Dick's wrists fall and gently stroked the back of Dick's head before replacing his palm on the small of Dick's back. They continued walking. Dick pulled his sleeves down again.

* * *

" _Dick, you know we're going to have to talk about this sooner or later, don't you?"_

_Dick looked down to where Bruce's hand rested gently on Dick's uninjured forearm. Well, uninjured was relatively speaking. His right arm may not have been wrapped in the bandages that covered the deep lacerations on his left, but there were still rows of scars, old and new, lining the skin._

_Dick was tempted to pull his arm away but didn't. He was tempted to say, "I choose later" but didn't. He was tempted to do a lot of things. Instead, he looked Bruce in the eye and nodded._

" _Dick, can you tell me why you cut yourself?" Bruce's voice wasn't angry or upset. It was carefully neutral._

_Dick took a breath. "It's…It's hard to…explain, really." Another breath. Memories surfaced. The pain. The chaos. "It's just…sometimes too much is happening, and everything hurts." He remembered the pain gripping him, holding him down in the darkness. It wouldn't let go, wouldn't go away. The grief and fear gagged him, choked him. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. "It all just spins out of control, and I can't stop it. Too much chaos. I need to get it out!" Then the chaos began to consume him._

" _Dick, stop!" Bruce grasped Dick's hands firmly, pulling them away from each other. Dick looked up from where he'd been unconsciously digging his nails into his forearm, his face twisted in pain. He'd drawn blood._

_Dick looked to Bruce, lost. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," he whispered._

" _Dick, you remember what the doctor said when he came in, don't you? He said you don't need the restraints, but you must stay calm. Can you do that for me, Dick?"_

_Dick stared into Bruce's eyes. They were so calm, so steady, like a safe harbor for him to rest in. He breathed deeply and refused to look away._

" _That's it, Dick. That's it." Bruce's voice was secure, soothing. Slowly, he released Dick's hands. "Now I know this is going to be hard for you, but we need to discuss this. I want to help you stop cutting, Dick. I want to help you work through this."_

_Dick's heart quickened. "I…I can't stop! I need to cut. It_ helps  _me."_

_Bruce looked shocked. "Dick, you can't be serious. You almost killed yourself!"_

" _Not on purpose! I just couldn't get the chaos out. It wasn't enough. I had to cut deeper," Dick implored Bruce to understand._

" _But in doing so you almost died. What happens next time it's not enough?" Bruce's eyes and voice openly betrayed the hurt and fear Bruce felt. "What if I'm not there to find you next time. You barely survived this time, Dick. And I came into the room mere minutes after you cut yourself. What happens next time?"_

_The backs of Dick's eyes burned as tears threatened to form. "But I need it," Dick begged._

_Bruce leaned forward and took Dick's hands in his own. "You are still a young child, Dick. You have so much life in you; I've seen it. Even after everything the world's thrown at you, you refuse to break. You're strong, Dick. You don't need this." Bruce turned Dick's arms so the cuts on his forearms were facing up._

_Dick looked down at his hands, enfolded and protected by Bruce's. "I don't know how to stop," he barely whispered._

_Dick watched one of the big hands move to lift his chin. He found himself staring into Bruce's steady eyes again. He breathed in the calm._

" _I'll help you."_

* * *

Dick pulled out of the memory as Bruce led him into a room. He stopped just inside the doorway and stared.

The walls and floor of the large room were padded with blue gym mats. On the opposite side of the room were two tall poles with ladders climbing up to the platforms that topped them. Between the two metal poles, hanging from the ceiling, were two swings. Underneath them, stretched between the two poles, was a safety net. In front of the trapeze equipment, closer to where Bruce and Dick stood, was a set of rings hanging from a large metal frame that nearly reached the ceiling. To the side of the rings was a row of padded pillars. Directly in front of Bruce and Dick was an open space. All the equipment was brand new.

Dick stared openmouthed at the room. He couldn't even begin to comprehend what he was seeing. When he finally found his voice, he asked, "What…is all this?"

Bruce smiled down at Dick. "This is your alternative."

* * *

" _We need to find you a safe alternative to cutting. Give you something healthy to replace it with that still helps you deal with your emotions."_

_Dick stared at Bruce, unsure. "Like what?"_

" _You can come to me and talk. You can blast music really loud. Dr. Leslie suggested drawing lines on your arms with a red pen when you feel the urge to cut. You can keep a rubber band around your wrist and snap it when you want to cut. Or you can do something that makes you happy."_

" _Like what?" Dick repeated._

" _I don't know. What did you use to do for fun or when you were upset?"_

_Dick thought back to before. He had loved to do everything when he was younger. It was all an experience, and every experience had value. But there had always been one thing that made Dick truly happy. Unfortunately, that part of his past was gone and not coming back. "I practiced my acrobatics."_

_Dick expected Bruce's face to fall at the impossibility of Dick's words. But instead, the man took on a thoughtful expression._

* * *

"There's room for more additions if there's anything you think is missing. And you can change whatever you want. Of course, you can't use any of the equipment until you're back on your feet, though."

Dick grinned. "I'm on my feet now."

Bruce laughed and steadied Dick as the boy wobbled. "Maybe you should wait for a little more secure of a footing first."

Dick slowly moved through the room on his own, his steps still unsteady. His hands reached out to touch the equipment as he went. This was all so unbelievable he didn't know what to think. He didn't understand how Bruce had managed all this, especially without him noticing it. Dick was really touched that Bruce would do this for him, that he would go to such lengths for Dick. He didn't think anyone had ever done something so nice for him. At least not for what felt like a very long time.

At the same time, being in this room reminded Dick so heavily of his parents and his old life. It was almost painful. Dick breathing was choked slightly by the lump in his throat. But there was also a feeling of nostalgia, a remembrance of happy times. Dick didn't know what to do with the emotions resting within him.

He came to a stop in front of the trapeze. Memories flashed. His heart stuttered. This is where Dick's parents had died. This is where Dick's life had ended. Did he really want to return to the trapeze? Could he? Dick stared hard at the trapeze for a long time. But in the end, there was only one answer. He was a Grayson, after all.

Dick turned to look at Bruce, still standing in the doorway. As quickly as his shaky steps could take him, Dick made his way to the man and wrapped his arms around Bruce's middle. "I love it. Thank you, Bruce."

Bruce was stunned for a moment but recovered quickly and wrapped his arms around Dick's back. "You're welcome, Dick."

* * *

Over a week passed, and Dick was soon well enough to go back to school. The Academic Assessment Exam wasn't for another week-and-a-half, so Dick was still learning things he already knew in all his classes. But he didn't mind it as much anymore. It was certainly better than lying in his bed all day. Also, the teachers and most of the students had stopped staring at him so openly. Dick was glad Bruce had somehow managed to keep Dick's incident away from the press because the last thing Dick wanted was for everyone to be looking at Dick like he was crazy or suicidal or something.

A lot of the bullying had stopped, too. Dick figured that was because of Bruce. They'd had a talk about the bullying when Dick was still in the hospital and under the influence of the "Thou Shall Not Lie In Front of Peanut" rule. Apparently, the doctor had told Bruce about the bruises on Dick's torso. Bruce had put two and two together. Although, where Bruce got the second "two" from, Dick had no idea. The man was like a detective or something. But that was beside the point. Bruce had asked Dick about it, and Dick had had to tell him; Peanut had been in the room.

Bruce hadn't been angry or upset, as Dick had expected. Well, the man had been angry and upset, but not with Dick. After their conversation, Dick had the delight of listening to Bruce chew out that hated principal of Gotham Academy over the phone for almost an hour. Dick had smiled the entire time.

Most of the bullying––at least much of the outright, physical stuff––had stopped. Most of it was just taunting and verbal jabs now. The things they said still hurt, but at least now Dick was on a fair playing field and able to fight back in equal measure. And he excelled at this game.

But then, there were also a few kids who were willing to risk getting in trouble to continue to bully Dick the old fashion way. Matthew Johnson was one of those boys. He was thirteen. Tall for his age, but still lanky. Cropped, blond hair. Light green eyes. Scattered freckles. He moved with an arrogant swagger that came from thinking that four years of karate lessons at his age (but no real fighting experience off the mat) meant that he could take anyone on.

Unfortunately, because Bruce's "No Fighting" rule still stood, Dick couldn't teach him differently. So, there Dick stood, apathetically rubbing the place on his chest where Matthew's foot had just been. "Ow. That hurt," Dick stated dispassionately.

It was a fist coming for him this time. Dick saw that it carried enough force and was aimed properly to do some damage. His body instinctively twisted out of the way. It was effortless and graceful.

It pissed Matthew off. Another fist came. Then a foot. Elbow to the head. Then fist again.

Dick dodged them all. It was all instinctual; Dick just let it happen.  _Is it really fighting if I'm not actually attacking? Surely Bruce can't be upset with me about this,_  Dick mentally gestured at the "fight."

"Hey, stop that! Leave him alone!" Dick turned to look at the person the voice came from only after assuring himself that Matthew had actually stopped.

It was a girl about Dick's age. She had long, flaming red hair and blue eyes. Above those eyes, which were narrowed at Matthew, frowned two thin eyebrows. Her face was a soft heart-shape. Her chin was up, matching the challenging stance the rest of her body took. She wore one of the school's uniform variations: a white, long-sleeved dress shirt with a black vest, the maroon tie, and a navy skirt. Her movements were sure and subconsciously fluid. She didn't have to think about it. Dick figured that she had been practicing some form of martial arts or gymnastics for many years.

She came to a halt just inside Matthew's personal bubble, her posture confident and slightly aggressive. The older boy looked afraid of her, despite the height and age difference. Dick thought that was interesting.  _The girl must have some sort of reputation,_  Dick reasoned. It was strange, though. Dick knew just about everyone on the upper end of the hierarchy at Gotham Academy, and she was not one of them.  _Who is she?_

"Do you want to tell me what you were doing, Matthew?" she asked kindly. "I'm sure you have a great excuse for attacking Richard."

Dick smirked. He liked how neither her words nor her tone were threatening in any way, yet her message still came across loud and clear.

Matthew was a nervous, stuttering mess. "I–I was just…I mean, we were…I–" At the sight of the girl's overly nice smile, Matthew's voice stopped altogether, leaving him opening and closing his mouth like a fish.

"That's what I thought. Now, why don't you go to the cafeteria and finish your lunch before one of the faculty checks this hallway." Despite her tone, it wasn't a question or a suggestion.

Matthew fled.

As soon as the boy was out of the hallway, Dick let out the laugh he'd been holding in while watching the boy flounder. He liked this girl! Turning to him, she smiled, walked over, and held out her hand. "Hi, I'm Barbara."

* * *

Dick tossed his backpack into the car and slid into the backseat, buckling up. "Hi, Bruce."

"Hi, Dick. How was school?" Bruce asked from the front seat, checking on Dick in the rearview mirror as he pulled away from the parking lot. He noted the slight shift Dick made to keep the seatbelt away from a particular spot on his right pectoral. He'd have to ask Dick about that later.

When Bruce asked about Dick's day at school, he wasn't really expecting much. Bruce asked every day, and Dick never had much to say. Bruce hoped that would change after the Assessment when Dick would be in classes appropriate to his education level.

But to Bruce's surprise, Dick started off right away talking about this girl he'd befriended during lunch. The boy was talking so fast, Bruce almost had trouble keeping up with what he was saying. Bruce quickly realized that Dick was talking about Barbara Gordon. He recalled a few of the stories he'd heard from the Commissioner about the man's daughter and wasn't at all surprised that the two kids had hit it off. Bruce smiled at how excited Dick was. He was glad Dick finally had a good friend at school.  _Maybe things will be a bit easier on him now_ , Bruce hoped.

Dick didn't stop talking the entire way back to the Manor. As they pulled into the driveway, Dick finished, "But I've got to say, she's a little batty."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you didn't laugh (or at least smile) just now, read that last sentence again. :)


	12. Chapter 12

Dick finished reviewing his answers and put the pencil down. Glancing at clock, he saw that he still had forty-five minutes left. The exam allowed four hours to complete the exam and covered reading, writing, math, science, and social studies in varying difficulties. It had questions from English, Algebra, Geometry, Biology, Chemistry, Physics, World Geography, World History, US History––on and on it went. Plenty of the questions were too difficult for Dick to answer, but he was okay with that because he knew the test pulled questions from all grade levels. He wasn't supposed to know all of it. And he'd still managed to answer many of the questions that were far above the grade level he'd been in since attending Gotham Academy.

The assessment had originally been planned for several weeks ago, but Bruce had decided to move it after Dick's incident and the necessary recovery period. He had wanted to give Dick time to readjust before having to take the exam. Dick hadn't really cared wither way, but he'd gone along with it because it made Bruce feel better.

Dick looked over at the principal. Mr. Henry was sitting at the desk in the front of the classroom working on a crossword puzzle. Dick raised his hand and waited a long moment before Mr. Henry finally looked up. The man's face held the same contemptuous sneer it'd had since Bruce had taken Dick in for the exam this morning.  _It's like the guy has a vendetta against me_ , Dick thought, irritated. _I wonder if it has anything to do with Bruce chewing him out over me when I was in the hospital._

"What is it, Mr. Grayson?" the man asked snidely.

Dick pulled his frustration back and answered, "I'm done."

"That's hardly believable," Mr. Henry snorted.

Dick gritted his teeth but kept his tone forcibly polite. "Well, it's true. I've answered everything I can to the best of my ability and rechecked my answers twice. I've finished."

Mr. Henry stood up and moved to Dick's side to collect the exam. "Very well. If you think this is the most you are capable, then it makes sense that you can't continue."

Dick wished so much right then that he could fight this man just like he wanted to do to all the bullies that targeted him. The man acted like Dick was giving up because he was too stupid to answer the questions. He'd answered all the ones he knew, worked out the challenging ones, and did his best with the ones that were years ahead of him. Dick really wanted to just beat the man bloody, but he knew it was wrong––the man wasn't really threatening him or anything. Plus, Bruce would be  _so pissed_.

So, instead of bashing the man's head into the desk when he leaned forward to grab the exam packet, Dick calmly stood up and walked out of the room. He even managed a rough "thank you" before closing the door behind him.

Dick made his way along the hallways and into the locker room, weaving through the stragglers left after the school day ended less than fifteen minutes ago. Dick pulled open his locker a little more abruptly than necessary, letting some of his frustration leak into his movements.

"Wow. It went that bad, huh?"

Dick turned with a small smile on his face, his anger slowly moving to the back of his mind. "Hey, Babs." His best friend leaned against the locker next to him, her purple backpack hanging from one shoulder. "The test wasn't that bad. It's just Principal Jackass. The man does not like me."

Babs snickered a little. "Maybe it's because you call him Principal Jackass? Most people wouldn't take too kindly to that."

Dick smiled back as he grabbed his backpack and closed his locker. "I'll give you that. But it's not like I've ever called him that to his face."

"You shouldn't be calling him that period," Babs said with a small frown.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll put a dollar in the swear jar later," he joked back. Dick shrugged his backpack onto his back and walked with Barbara to the front entrance of the school. "So, how was your day? Did you manage okay? I know life's not nearly as interesting without your daily dose of me."

Babs laughed full out. She responded in a mock tragic voice. "Oh, it was just awful! I don't know how I even made it. Don't ever leave me again, Dick!" She hung off his side as they walked through the grand double doors. Dick laughed and shoved her off.

The front school yard was speckled with the kids who were waiting for a ride, most talking in groups or playing games. A couple of Dick's personal bullies glanced up at him with malicious intention but stopped where they were when they saw Babs next to him. Dick smirked.  _Cowards._

At the front circle at the edge of the yard, dozens of cars carrying impatient parents were lined up. A beep was heard from one, causing Dick and Babs to look up. It was Barbara's dad in the squad car. Barbara waved to let him know she heard and would be right over.

"See you tomorrow, Dick?" she asked in parting.

Dick's gaze was pulled back from where he was still staring at the squad car. "Yeah, sure," he replied absentmindedly. It wasn't that he specifically hated Babs's father. But he had developed an instinctual distrust of anyone in that kind of uniform. Most of that was because of the guards at Mini Arkham, but some of it was because of his experience with the Gotham PD. They weren't all that helpful in those first days when Dick was still grief-stricken after his parents' deaths. They didn't believe anything Dick had said about Tony Zucco, something that still burned in his gut like acid. And they had let Social Services just dump Dick in the hellhole that was Mini Arkham without so much as a word of protest.

"Hello…Earth to Dick?"

Dick's gaze snapped back to Babs when she snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Huh?"

Babs was looking at him with a concerned expression. "I just asked you if you wanted to come over after school tomorrow. It's a Friday so no homework, and we'll have plenty of time to veg out and do whatever we want."

"Um…" Dick glanced at the squad car again, not really wanting to be under the same roof as one of the cops that let so much bad happen in his life. His gaze returned to Babs's hopeful face, and he sighed internally. His best, and only, friend really wanted him to come over. How could he say no just because he didn't like her father? "I'd love to," he smiled. "I just have to check with Bruce first."

"Okay," she grinned. "See you tomorrow!"

Dick stared after her as she ran to the squad car and greeted her father excitedly.  _She seems to really love him,_  Dick noted from all the times she'd talked about the man or whenever Dick had seen him pick her up after school.  _He can't be too bad if someone like Babs loves him. Can he?_  Dick sighed. He guessed that was a matter for tomorrow.  _Besides, maybe Bruce will say no._

Dick looked up as his peripheral vision caught the sight of one of Bruce's town cars approaching the front circle. Dick made his way over and opened the back door just as the car pulled to a stop. Dick hopped in, dropping his backpack on the middle seat and pulling the seatbelt across his chest. "Hey, Alfie. How was your day?"

"I do believe that is my line, Master Richard," the old man replied with a small, butler-y smile in the rearview mirror.

"Yeah, well, I beat you to it, so you have to answer first."

* * *

Dick watched as Bruce closed the folder he had been working on in the study. The man didn't look like he was getting ready to go to sleep. He looked more like he was preparing for…something. Dick had studied the signs, the patterns. He had stalked the man in the Manor at night. It was clear to him now that Bruce left the Manor almost every night after Dick went to bed. He was sneaky about. He would wait until he was sure Dick was asleep for the night before making his way through the hallways and into the study. Somehow Dick always lost track of him after that. He would search the Manor high and low, but Bruce was nowhere to be found.

It irked Dick. Both that he couldn't figure out the mystery and that Bruce was keeping something from him. They'd made a promise in the hospital to be completely honest when Peanut was in the room. But Bruce never told Dick what he did at night when the man tucked him in.  _At least he's not lying to me outright,_ Dick comforted himself.

_No,_  a cynical voice whispered in his head,  _he's just keeping something from you. It must be something big if he won't tell you even after the promise._

"Time for bed, Dick," Bruce said as he put away the things he'd been working on.

Dick made himself comfier in the large chair he'd been sitting in all night in front of the desk. "Actually, I was thinking I'd just sleep in here tonight. The chair's comfortable enough, and you've got a nice view out of the window behind the desk."

Dick watched Bruce carefully for any tells the man might have. But Bruce only laughed. "You can't sleep here. What would Alfred say?"

Despite himself, Dick chuckled a little at the thought of Alfred's reaction. "I'm sure he won't mind," he persisted. If he could manage to "fall asleep" in the chair, then maybe he'd get to see where Bruce went every night.

Bruce just smiled and said with gentle finality, "You're sleeping in your own bed, Dick. Come on, I'll tuck you in." But Dick didn't move. Bruce paused to really look at him. "What's going on? Is something wrong?"

Dick sighed and looked down.  _Maybe I should just ask him._

_Do you really think he'll tell the truth_? the cynical voice asked.

_Maybe not, but I don't think he'd lie to me…even without Peanut in the room._

_He's already broken the Peanut Rule by not telling you what he does at night. How can you possibly trust him?_

Dick squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.  _I don't know, but somehow I do._

"Dick, what's wrong?" Bruce asked. Dick looked up at his foster father. Bruce looked sincerely concerned. Dick was 99.9 percent sure it wasn't faked. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Dick took a deep breath. "You know  _you_  can tell  _me_  anything, right?"

Bruce's eyebrows frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Dick sighed and sat up straight. "I know you're keeping something from me. I know you go somewhere every night after you think I've fallen asleep. I know that you come into this room and disappear. But I don't know where you go or what you do." Dick paused to look Bruce directly in his stunned eyes. "We made a deal to be completely honest with each other, but you've been hiding something from me."

* * *

Bruce was shocked. How had Dick managed to figure all of this out without Bruce knowing? The boy must have been following Bruce every night, but Bruce hadn't once been suspicious.  _Is he that good, or have I become too complacent with him? Never mind that, I should just be glad he hasn't found the Batcave already._

Looking at Dick, Bruce could clearly see the determination and mistrust creeping into Dick's eyes. Bruce didn't want Dick to doubt him, but there was no way he could  _ever_  tell Dick about Batman.  _I have to tell him something, though._  Still, Bruce refused to lie to him.

Bruce moved to crouch in front of Dick, who was still sitting in the chair. "Dick, do you trust me?"

Bruce watched at Dick sincerely thought about it. He didn't know if he was hurt or proud that Dick had to think about it. He wanted the boy to trust him completely, but at the same time, Bruce liked that Dick was smart enough to not blindly trust anyone. And he was happy that Bruce had managed to become close enough to Dick that the boy who had every reason to distrust everyone even considered trusting Bruce.

Finally, the boy spoke. His words were slow, as if he was thinking over each word before speaking it. "I'm not sure if I should. But for some reason, I do. I trust you."

Bruce gave the boy one of his rare smiles. Although, they weren't quite as rare as they used to be before Bruce took Dick in. "Then trust that there are some things I can't tell you."

Dick frowned in consideration, but he seemed to know better than to futilely ask why. "Then how about this…? We should be honest with our dishonesty."

Bruce looked at him confused. "What?"

With child-like naivety and all the wisdom of the world, Dick explained, "If there's something you can't tell me, or I can't tell you, then we tell each other that we can't tell each other. We don't lie or hide it. We just agree that we can't always explain things."

Bruce was stunned. Dick was far too wise for his age. A part of Bruce was sad that Dick had had to grow up so fast. The other part of him just wanted to help Dick be a kid again. He smiled at Dick. "I think we can manage that."

Dick hopped to his feet with a smile, forcing Bruce to stand up. "Then, I have to get to bed so you can leave tonight."

Dick left the study with Bruce trailing behind him and made his way to his bedroom. He climbed into the bed, already in his pajamas. Bruce sat down next to him and gently pulled the covers up to Dick's chin.  _How can this one little boy mean so much to me?_ "Goodnight, Dick."  _Sweat dreams. I'll see you in the morning._

Bruce stood up to leave. As he reached the door, he heard Dick's now-growing-sleepy voice call out to him. "Bruce?"

Bruce turned "Yeah, Dick?"

"Barbara wants me to go over her house tomorrow after school. I told her I would ask you.… But feel free to say no," he quickly added.

Bruce frowned. "Do you want me to say no?" At Dick's sigh, Bruce walked back to the bed and sat down. "What is it, Dick?"

"I just…it's just…I don't know," he replied in exasperation. "It's her dad."

"James Gordon?" Bruce asked, surprised. Dick nodded with his eyes down. Something about the sad frustration on Dick's face made it click in Bruce's mind. "It's because he's a police officer, isn't it?"

Dick looked up and nodded, the irritation growing. "They took me away from the circus, from my family. They wouldn't believe me when I told them that  _Tony Zucco_ " ––he spat the name––"killed my parents. And they let that social worker put me in Mini Arkham. They didn't even argue! And the guards there were even worse!" Dick stared at Bruce with troubled eyes. "How am I supposed to hang with Barbara when I know her dad, the man that let that all happen, is in just the other room?"

"Dick," Bruce started, not knowing what he was really supposed to say. "I know this is hard to hear, but you have separate your feelings for the cops and the guards that you knew from the entire police department. The Gotham PD is very large, and it deals with so many cases a day. Sometimes people slip through the cracks. It's tragic. And it's not fair. But it's the truth of life in places like Gotham."

"So what you're saying is that I slipped through the cracks?" Dick asked, a tired pain shimmering in the back of his eyes.

"And I found you," Bruce reassured him and put a hand to the side of Dick's face.

Dick smiled, the pain fading slightly in his eyes. He let his head rest in Bruce's hand.

"Jim Gordon is a good cop, one of the few Gotham actually has. I don't know if he was involved in your case, but if he was, I'm sure his hands were tied. Jim is a friend. I know he wouldn't have let this happen to you without a fight. I also know he is personally involved in the police's search for Zucco."

Dick started. "They're looking for him? They're actually looking for him?"

Bruce smiled. "Jim's the one that started the search." That wasn't  _quite_  true. Batman had suggested Zucco's involvement to Jim after Dick had told him about it all those weeks ago. Unfortunately, the case was slow going with few leads, all of them dead ends. His latest lead was that Zucco had holed up somewhere on the lower east side. He was going to tell Jim about it tonight. Maybe something would come of it, but it was unlikely.

Dick smiled sleepily and closed his eyes, his cheek still resting in Bruce's hand. "Thanks, Bruce. I think I will go to Babs tomorrow…" Dick was asleep in seconds.

Bruce stroked Dick's hair gently. "Goodnight, Dickie."

* * *

Dick liked hearing Babs's laugh, watching her make fun of the cop show they were watching on TV. Her commentary ripped apart everything they did, and she told Dick in explicit detail how "the real cops do it." Dick grinned bigger and laughed harder than what he really felt. He didn't want Babs to know how uneasy he was being in her house…with her dad. Despite what Bruce had told him, Dick still found himself uncomfortable being around Gordon. It didn't help that the man had picked Babs and him up from school wearing his cop uniform and in the squad car.

"Hey, Babs, I'll be right back. I have to use the bathroom."

"Second door on the left," she called over her shoulder, still laughing at the TV show.

Dick made his way to the bathroom and took care of his business. On his way back, he heard Gordon's voice loudly from another room. Reversing direction, Dick passed the bathroom and stopped just shy of another room two doors down. He stuck close to the wall and slowed his breathing.

"––the search for Zucco moved to the lower east side. I want the wanted posters up and cops scouring the area for any leads.…Thanks, Bullock." There was the click of a flip phone snapping shut.

_Zucco? As in Tony Zucco? They know where he is!_  Without thinking it through, Dick raced around the corner into what appeared to be Gordon's very cluttered office. "You found him? You're bringing him in?" Dick hadn't felt so hopeful in a long time. It was like everything was finally falling into place.  _Tony Zucco's finally going to be brought to justice!_

"Dick? What are you doing here?" Gordon asked, clearly surprised to find the boy in his office.

Dick moved forwards, ignoring the piles of case files stacked along the walls and on the desk. His attention was all for Gordon. "You found Tony Zucco? You know where he is?" Dick didn't think his voice had ever been more intent than it was now. This was life and death here. This was the defining moment.  _My parents' killer is finally going to get what he deserves!_

Gordon's mind seemed to finally catch up. The man stood up and walked around to Dick. He leaned back against the desk, careful not to knock the stacks of papers over. "I'm sorry, son. We don't have him yet. We got a lead from Batman last night. We're looking into it. I promise you'll be the first to know when we bring him in."

Dick's heart dropped with the weight of a rock in his chest, pulling him down. He was surprised to find himself still standing when he felt Gordon's hand come down on his shoulder. Dick instinctively flinched away from the touch before realizing the movement was meant as reassurance. Most days, in most circumstances, Dick could almost handle someone touching his shoulders like that. He even allowed Bruce to do it once in a while. Though Bruce seemed to instinctively know to keep such contact to a minimum. But when Dick was distressed or feeling threatened, all he could think of was Nikolai grabbing him and holding him still for his punishments. The memories flashed before his eyes even as he registered the nature of Gordon's touch.

But he had already flinched. And Gordon had seen.

Gordon pulled back his hand. "Are you okay, son?" Concern took over Gordon's features.

Dick wished he didn't have to see that look. He didn't like others noticing his weaknesses. He didn't like not being able to identify the truth behind other's facial expressions. With Nikolai, Dick had always known where he stood. No matter the way Nikolai had treated Dick, he had never lied. But out here, in this world, Dick didn't know what was truth and what was fabrication. Any word or look or action had just as much of a chance of being real as it did of being fake.

"Dick?" Gordon asked when Dick still hadn't responded.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Dick muttered, still trying to figure out if he could trust this man. Bruce had said Gordon was a good guy. He had said they were friends. Did that mean Gordon was okay? Or was Bruce a poor judge of character? Gordon's uniform caught Dick's eye. He glared at it, knowing it was what kept Dick from accepting his only friend's father.

Gordon, of course, saw the glare directed at him. "Did I do something to upset you, Dick? I'm sorry if I did. It wasn't my intention."

Confronted directly, Dick fell into one of his defensive mechanisms and lashed out verbally, his face twisted in anger. "I don't need your apologies. You're just another stupid cop who couldn't care less about the people you're supposed to protect. You let them ship me off to hell on earth, where no one cared except for one boy whose greatest pleasure came from tormenting me. You can't even find the man who murdered my parents! What good are you?"

Gordon was stunned. He knew the basics of Dick's case of course. The boy had been taken in by Bruce Wayne, so the press was all over the story, publishing whatever they could find. And Gordon had personally looked into Richard Grayson when Barbara came home talking about this new boy she befriended. But no source had given him any specifics. The JDC files were sparse at best and nonexistent at worst. Gordon had no idea what went on there for Dick.  _Hopefully Bruce knows at least._

Gordon knelt down in front of Dick so they were at eye level. He placed his hands on Dick's biceps, taking note that this did not make the boy flinch like the grip on his shoulder had. "Dick…I…I'm sorry…I don't know what to say. There's nothing I really  _can_  say. I don't know what exactly you've been through. And I don't presume to know how you feel or what you're thinking. But I know you have every right to be upset with the Gotham PD. We failed you. Truth be told, I didn't even know that Social Services transferred you to the JDC until days after you were already there. By the time I was able to do anything about it, Bruce had already told me he was taking you in."

"So I just slipped through the cracks?" Dick asked tartly.

_So much bitterness in so young a boy_ , Gordon thought.  _And so much reason for it._ "Dick, I know the damage has already been done. I cannot turn back the clock to prevent what was done to you. But I can do my best to make sure you won't have to suffer in the future. If there is any way to make this up to you, please tell me."

Dick looked away from Gordon's overly concerned and pleading face. He didn't know if Gordon was just naturally expressive or if he was trying to trick Dick and laying it on too thick. He didn't know what Gordon wanted from him or what the man thought he could possibly do to make up for the lifetime's worth of suffering Dick had already lived through.

Dick's eyes fell on Gordon's desk. Off to the side, there was a stack of papers. The top one was a wanted flier for Tony Zucco. Dick pulled away from Gordon and walked over to the man's desk. He picked up the flier, uncovering an exact copy beneath it. Dick stared into the cold, hard face of his parents' killer. He had once black but now graying hair, a dark goatee, and the most disconcerting, blackest eyes Dick had ever seen. His complexion was pale, and his facial lines were sharp. His expression was one of cold smugness.

Dick hated Tony Zucco with everything inside of him. This was the man that had taken Dick's parents away from him. Who had pulled him away from his family in the circus. Who had sent him to Mini Arkham to be tortured by Nikolai and the others day in and day out. Who left him so confused and mistrusting about even the smallest things in this new life. Every bad thing that had happened to Dick, he blamed on Zucco and Zucco alone. Others, even himself, may have played a part. But in the end, it was all Zucco. And Dick hated him. He wanted Zucco to get what was coming to him.

So he turned around and showed the poster to Officer Gordon. With hatred burning in his eyes, the eight-year-old said, "Find this man. Find my parents' murderer. I want him to pay for what he's done."

Gordon stared at him carefully. "Dick, I promise you we will do everything we can. But you need to be careful. You are very angry and upset. And you have every right to be. But anger and hatred will only pull you down. It's a dark path you don't want to walk, Dick. To find your future, you need to let go of the past."

"I'll let go of the past when Tony Zucco has been brought to justice for his crimes." With that, Dick strode past Gordon and out of the man's home office. As he walked with quick, frustrated steps, he realized he still had the wanted flier in his hand. He started to ball it up, but at the last minute decided to fold it up nicely and tuck it away in his pocket.  _If the cops aren't going to find Zucco, then maybe I have to take matters into my own hands._


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delayed update! I haven't had internet for two weeks. Enjoy!

"G'night, Bruce," Dick mumbled, his eyes closing sleepily. "Good luck with whatever you do at night."

"Good night, Dick," Bruce murmured back. "Get a good sleep. I have a surprise for you tomorrow."

"Mmm…," Dick replied, seemingly already asleep.

Bruce closed the door gently. Dick listened as his soft footsteps faded away. When the coast was clear, Dick lifted the blankets and moved quietly out of bed. In the closet, he pulled out a pair of faded jeans, a black t-shirt, a black sweatshirt, and his favorite pair of sneakers. As Dick walked to the rightmost window, his eyes fell on his acrobatics costume. His thoughts spun with grief and nostalgia. Turning to look at the picture frame on his bedside table, Dick swallowed the emotions and focused on his mission. "I'll make it right," he told his parents. "I promise."

With that, Dick opened the window and stood up on the ledge. There was a tree outside the window with branches just close enough that Dick could make the jump. Dick took the leap and latched onto the nearest branch, his body swinging with the momentum. Dick flipped onto another branch and another until he reached the lowest one. He was still a good ten, maybe fifteen feet above the ground, but he dropped anyway and landed with well-practiced expertise.

Finally on the ground, Dick looked back up at his room.  _Last chance to turn back,_  he told himself.

Bruce would be gone most of the night, Dick knew. There was plenty of time for what he had planned. Inside his pocket, Dick ran his fingers over the wanted poster he had stashed in the sweatshirt earlier.  _No. I have to do this._

* * *

"Are you sure you want to get off here, kid?" the nondescript bus driver asked, his tone incredulous.

Dick looked back. "Yes, sir. Thank you." He turned around and walked away so the guy would get the hint and just drive on.

Dick knew just from looking that this wasn't a good part of Gotham. The buildings that weren't in complete shambles were boarded up and barely livable. Dick guessed that more than several families lived in each. Trash littered the streets haphazardly. Graffiti covered every available surface. The few people that were out on the streets this late walked quickly, heads swinging and eyes searching.

No, the lower east side was not a good place. But it was where Gordon had said Tony Zucco was, and so it was where Dick would begin his search.

Dick wasn't stupid. He knew he wasn't going to find Zucco tonight. Tracking down his parents' murderer was going to take time. Dick could only hope Zucco didn't make a run for it before he could find the scum.

Dick walked through the streets, taking note of every sordid activity happening in the alleys and side streets. There were drug transactions and gangs and things Dick didn't even want to know what they were.

As Dick started to enter a more commercial area, his eyes alighted on a still manned newsstand.  _Perfect!_  Dick made his way quickly over. "Excuse me? Sir?" Dick asked in his best 'innocent, little boy' voice.

"Huh?" The guy looked down from the magazine he was reading to see Dick standing there. The man was short, in his forties, and balding with a pudgy face and a beer belly. "What do you want, kid?" the guy asked uninterestedly.

Dick pulled the wanted poster from his pocket. He had it folded up so only the picture showed. "Has this man ever bought a paper from you?"

Surprisingly, the newsstand guy actually studied the picture. "Sorry, kid. I don't think so. Who is he? Your dad or something?"

"Or something," Dick mumbled, walking away.  _Well, it's not like I expected it to be that easy anyway…_

As the area became more commercialized, Dick found more small-time stores open. He went into all of them and showed everyone inside the poster, hoping someone had seen Zucco. Most people, like the newsstand guy, thought he was Dick's deadbeat dad or something. Dick quickly realized people started to become more sympathetic under this assumption, so he made up a sob story to go with his search. He told them that he didn't have a dad, and his mom was really sick, and Dick was trying to find his uncle (because he couldn't even pretend to call Tony Zucco his father) "in case something should happen." Dick even used the puppy-dog eyes when he thought it would help.

Even if the tactic didn't get him any leads on Zucco, Dick could immediately see the impact it had on people. Everybody wanted to help the poor little boy with the sad story and even sadder eyes.

Dick walked the streets for hours, but he knew there was still plenty of the lower east side that he didn't even touch on. Gotham was a giant city, and Dick had barely covered more than a couple blocks tonight.  _It's going to take time_ , he reminded himself.

Still, some part of him had hoped he'd run into someone on the first night and they'd take him right to Zucco.

_Yeah, and when I get there, he'll be all tied up and waiting for me to bring to the police…_

_Yeah,_  Dick mentally sighed.

Looking at a clock in the electronics store he was walking by, Dick saw that it was past two in the morning.  _Dang it,_   _I need to get back to the Manor. What time does Bruce even get back from whatever he does at night?_

Dick started walking back to the last bus stop he'd passed, glad that the busses ran all night in a big city like this. Suddenly a scream rent the night, sending a chill like ice down Dick's spine. Dick turned to the source of the scream to see a woman backing away from three men in the alley across the street from Dick. The light from a flickering lamppost caught on something in each of the men's hands.

_Guns!_

Dick looked around, hoping to find somebody to help the woman. Heck, even a cop would do. But there were few people around this late, and the few that were out just averted their eyes and walked on.  _This isn't right. Someone needs to do something!_

But nobody was going to.

Without even really realizing what he was doing, Dick took a step forward…towards the alley. His heart beat a mile a minute, but his conviction was set with the next step.  _If nobody else is going to help her, then I will._

Dick was halfway across the street when a shadow suddenly dropped from the sky into the alley. It appeared and disappeared and reappeared again, flickering in and out of the alley shadows. And with each movement, an armed man found himself unconscious on the ground. The woman ran off the moment the guns were no longer aimed at her, nearly knocking Dick over in her haste to get away.

No sooner than it began, it was over. Dick watched, awestruck, as the shadow detached itself from the darkness once more. It swiftly and efficiently tied the three men together with a thick cable-like thing and then hung them from the lamppost in front of the alley.

The light flickered again, and Dick saw the shadow clearly for the first time.  _Batman…_ the _Batman._  Dick was star-struck. He'd always loved superheroes, even when he was a little kid. His favorite had always been Superman. He was always smiling and seemed to really care about people and wore such bright colors and  _he could actually fly!_  Dick wanted more than anything to be able to fly like Superman. No trapeze, no wires. Just flying.

But seeing Batman now, in the flesh… And seeing what Batman could really do… Dick thought he might have a new favorite superhero. Suddenly, Batman turned to look straight at Dick, who still stood wonderstruck in the middle of the road. Dick quivered under Batman's stare, part terrified and part excited.

Then the dark figure spoke. "This isn't a good place for a boy like you, at night or in the day." The voice rumbled up, deep and intimidating. But Dick didn't think the man was trying to scare him, despite the frown on his face.

Drawing on all his courage, Dick stopped his quivering, stood up straight, and stepped towards Batman. "I was looking for someone." Fumbling for the paper in his pocket, Dick didn't see the frown thin into a hard line at his words. Dick finally managed to get the paper out of his pocket. He held the picture up for the dark hero to see. "Maybe you've seen him, Mr. Batman? He's my uncle, you see, and I have to find him soon because Ma is really sick. She told me––"

"I know who you are, Richard Grayson," Batman told him.

Dick was so shocked he almost missed the wisp of a smile on the vigilante. He would have missed it entirely if he wasn't so used to seeing Bruce do something similar. Dick quickly found his words again. "Then you know who this is, too." He brought the picture up again.

"Anthony Zucco." Dick smiled, but his excitement was cut short. "I also know you shouldn't be looking for him. It's a matter for the police or myself to deal with. You should go back home, now. Your foster father is probably looking for you."

Dick opened his mouth to fight what Batman had said but closed it when he realized the man might be right. Was Bruce back now? Did he go in and check on Dick and find him missing? Was he worried now, searching for Dick?

Dick looked up to say goodbye to Batman, only to find that the hero wasn't there any longer, and Dick was alone in the street. After a moment of surprise, Dick shrugged it off and made his way to the bus stop. The bus arrived soon, and Dick got on, not knowing what to think about the night's events.

It was funny though. The entire way back to the Manor––on each bus he had to take, on each street he had to walk, all the way back home, up the tree, and back in the window––Dick had this weird feeling in the back of his mind that he was being followed.  _God, I'm so tired I'm imagining things now,_  he thought as he fell into bed, asleep before his head even hit the pillow.

* * *

"Time to get up, Dick!" Bruce's far too cheery voice broke into Dick's sleep-addled mind. Dick groaned and snuggled deeper under the covers. And then the covers were gone. "Up and at 'em!"

Dick squinted his eyes open, saw the clock on the bedside table, and squeezed his eyes closed again. "Bruuuuce," he whined, "it's only seven o'clock. On a  _Saturday_." There was no way Dick was getting out of bed. He hadn't even gotten into it until past three.

"Dick," Bruce laughed, "you have to get out of bed so we can go to the fair."

"Go without me," Dick groaned, not even listening to what Bruce said.

"Can't do that," Bruce joked. "Today is all about the two of us. If one of us isn't there, then it really doesn't have the same sentiment, now does it?"

"Bruce," Dick said in as serious a tone as his tired mind could muster, "if you want me out of this bed, you're going to have to take me by force." The room was blessedly silent, and Dick thought he had won the argument. His body relaxed, prepared to return to sleep despite the absentee blanket.

And then Dick was crying out in shock as his world was suddenly flipped upside down. Literally. Bruce was holding Dick upside down by his waist, Dick's head hanging by his knee, and walking out of the bedroom with him. Dick latched onto Bruce's leg tightly. "Bruce! Bruce! Put me down!"

The man was  _laughing_. "I can't do that, Dick. I think I have to carry you all the way to the kitchen. You might try to sneak back into bed."

"Like I could sleep  _now_!"

Bruce stopped and looked down at Dick. "Are you sure? You still seem a little tired to me."

"Yes, I'm sure. Put me down." Dick would have stamped his foot if it would have hit anything but air.

"Okay then," Bruce laughed.

In moments, Dick was right side up again, and the pair was headed towards the kitchen once more. Walking into the room, Dick discovered that Alfred already had the table prepared with a wide spread for breakfast, everything from stuffed French toast to blueberry scones to baked egg boats.

Just as Dick was lifting the first forkful to his mouth, Bruce asked, "So how did you sleep last night?"

Dick froze. There was a glint in Bruce's eyes that Dick couldn't interpret.  _He couldn't possibly know… Could he?_  "Mostly fine," Dick hedged. "But I couldn't fall asleep for a while."  _Stick to the truth, right?_

"That's too bad. No wonder you're so tired this morning." Bruce went back to eating, making Dick hope he was safe now.

_Maybe it was just innocent curiosity,_ Dick tried to reason.

"So, the reason that I woke you up so early today is that I found this flyer––" Dick thought his heart stopped "––for a carnival that's in town now. I thought we'd go together, spend the day, just the two of us. What do you say?"

_Just us at the carnival? Like a…like a father-son day?_  Dick thought with hope.

* * *

Bruce watched the emotions play across Dick's face with an inner smile. It had been fun to carefully tease the boy about his activities last night and see the anxious glances and nervous answers that came his way. But the excited, hopeful smile that now graced Dick's face was one of the best sights Bruce had ever seen.

It made Bruce glad he had decided to go through with his plans for the carnival. After finding Dick out on the streets last night, Bruce had questioned if he should cancel their plans and sit down with Dick to talk about why the boy shouldn't be wandering the streets like that.  _He needs to leave Zucco to the professionals. A kid like him is going to get killed out there. Or worse._

Bruce knew he'd have to address the situation, and soon. Dick couldn't be left to take on the streets of Gotham like that. Especially not the lower east side. Bruce worried most of all for what Dick would do if he somehow managed to find Zucco.

Bruce knew that he, at Dick's age, had been filled with anger and hatred at the world and at his parents' killer. Even as he grew older, the fury hadn't abated. It was only through the creation of Batman that Bruce had finally managed to control and utilize those emotions and turn them towards a greater good.

But Dick didn't have a Batman to channel his unstable emotions. And Bruce prayed he never had to have one. Batman was a creature of darkness, of vengeance, of pain. And that was not the life he wanted for Dick. He wanted Dick to be a kid who had hope and fun and happiness in every moment of his life.  _After everything he's gone through, he deserves it._

Bruce still couldn't believe that the boy had been about to fight three armed men to save that woman before Batman got there. He had seen the boy crossing the street, determination in his eyes and stance. Sure, the boy had fought other kids when he was in the JDC. But this was the real world, and these were real criminals with real guns. If Batman hadn't shown up, Bruce was sure that Dick would have died that night.

_I'll have to talk with him._ Bruce looked up at Dick grinning away as he ate his breakfast, talking rapidly at both Bruce and Alfred about how great the day was going to be.  _But not today._

* * *

Dick had never been to a carnival before. True, he had lived in a circus his whole life so Bruce had thought the kid would know something about carnivals. But no, apparently circuses and carnivals were completely different, and this was Dick's first carnival, and he was beyond excited. So Dick insisted that they had to do absolutely everything. And they did. Because Bruce found he couldn't deny the boy anything,  _especially_ not when he looked at Bruce with those hopeful puppy-dog eyes that said the child's heart would absolutely shatter if he didn't get what he asked for.

They went on the Ferris wheel, even though Bruce thought it was a boring, stupid invention and you could see much better from a rooftop. And they ate a disgusting amount of unhealthy food including hot dogs, chips, ice cream, cotton candy, pretzels, sodas, and many other things neither Batman nor Alfred would ever approve of. And right after all that junk food, they rode every ride the carnival had, despite the fact that none of them seemed even remotely safe to Bruce and eating right before it was asking for trouble in Bruce's opinion. And after Dick finished puking from riding the biggest, most terrifying ride in the whole place right after eating all that junk food, he insisted they eat more junk food. Then they'd gone on more rides and even sailed on the little boats the carnival rented out to people. And Dick just  _had_  to climb the rock wall.

_Although,_  Bruce thought,  _I don't think the people supervising expected him to just jump up there and start climbing without a harness. Then again, neither did I._

After having gone on all the rides and doing most everything else, Dick's eyes alighted on the milk bottle pyramid game. And, of course, they had to do that as well.

"Step right up. Step right up," the carny was calling. "It's not hard at all. Just knock down the bottles and win a prize."

Dick pushed a five-dollar bill––yes, the game was five dollars––onto the counter he could barely see over and smiled up at the hairy, rotund carny. "I want to try, please!"

So the carny smiled back and pushed three baseballs over to Dick. "You have three tries to knock down all six of the bottles."

Dick stared at the man intently for a minute and then at the bottles with the same intensity. Bruce was about to ask what the boy was doing when Dick suddenly pegged the three balls in quick succession as hard as he could at the bottom bottles. The bottles tipped, wobbled, and finally fell, leaving a smiling Dick and stunned carny in their wake.

Bruce was pretty surprised himself, he had to admit. He knew that carnival games were usually rigged so almost no one won them.  _Maybe the guy played fair because Dick's just a kid?_

"Uh…good job, kid," the carny muttered, clearly shocked.

_Or maybe not_ , Bruce reconsidered.

"It's really not that hard," Dick told the carny as he painstakingly scanned the prizes on the back wall, looking for the perfect one. "You just have to know that the bottom bottles are filled with lead and the inside of the balls are made of cork. I'll take that toy, please."

The surprised carny just stared at Dick for a long moment before following his finger to the prize Dick wanted. Bruce tracked the path Dick's finger pointed along and almost smiled at the toy Dick picked out.

"Here you go, kid," the carny said as he handed Dick a Batman plushy.

"Thank you," Dick replied with a big smile. Hugging his new toy, Dick headed for the next game booth. Bruce hurried to catch up, knowing from earlier today that Dick could quickly and easily disappear in a crowd if not watched with the utmost care. Before Bruce could even ask, Dick looked up at him, still smiling happily, and explained, "We had games like these in the circus. They were always rigged, too. So now I know how to beat all of the games and win all of the prizes!"

After that, Dick insisted they play all the carnival games while Dick explained to Bruce how each one was rigged. They did the basketball shoot, the balloon dart throw, the ring toss, the duck pond, the water gun horse race, the strength test, the bean bag knock down, and on and on they went. Dick and Bruce won almost every game, leaving them to carry a mass load of stuffed toys.

"So what are you going to do with all of these?" Bruce finally asked as they made their way to yet another game.

Dick looked up from his own armful in consideration. And then Bruce watched as Dick ran over to another little boy, younger than Dick, standing beside his mother. Bruce moved quickly to catch up, wondering what Dick was doing. Until he saw Dick hand the boy one of his toys before returning to Bruce with a wide smile on his face. "Come on, Bruce! We have a lot more toys to give out!"

And so they spent the next half hour handing out the stuffed toys to any kid Dick could find that didn't already have one. In the end, there was only one left: the Batman plushy. But Dick explained vehemently to Bruce that this toy was his, and he wasn't giving it away. "Besides, I need to have a souvenir of my first time at a carnival. How else am I going to remember what an amazing time we had today?"

Bruce just smiled and agreed, secretly pleased with Dick's choice in souvenir.

* * *

Dick smiled sleepily, his eyes already closing, as Bruce pulled the blankets up to his chin and tucked him in. He was absolutely exhausted from the day's events and happier than he'd been in a very long time. The day had been perfect. Just Bruce and Dick. Talking and playing and fooling around. And doing absolutely nothing but being together. It was one of the best days of Dick's life, and he wouldn't trade it for anything. Bruce really was the best thing to ever happen to Dick, and he was so happy the man had found him and brought Dick into his heart.

"Good night, Dick," Bruce smiled down on the nearly sleeping child, his heart light with love for the boy.

Already on the verge of unconsciousness, Dick mumbled out, "'Night, _Tati_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, everyone, say it with me: Aww!


	14. Chapter 14

"Where's your kid, Bruce?"

Bruce looked to his right where Clark was approaching him. The reporter seemed slightly tense at mentioning Dick. Not that Bruce could blame him after what happened last time. "I haven't seen him lately. He might have left to get some space."

Bruce turned his eyes back to the party, finding more press than wealthy attendees. They were all hoping to catch an interview with Bruce Wayne's foster son in his first "public" appearance. Until now, Bruce had kept the press as far away from Dick as possible. But it had been slowly becoming less and less possible. Bruce had known if he didn't act soon a reporter would track Dick down and surprise him, trying to get an interview. And Bruce knew that would not end well.

The key was to bring Dick officially into the public eye, let the press get their fill, and then carefully turn the spotlight from the boy. The annual Wayne Foundation Charity Ball had provided the perfect opportunity. The ball was held every year in Wayne Manor with hundreds of guests and plenty of press.

Bruce had, of course, talked extensively with Dick about the situation. He had explained the problem, their options, and that Dick was under no obligation to say yes. Dick had thought about it seriously, for which Bruce was glad. After what happened last time Dick had thought Bruce was throwing Dick to the press, Bruce didn't want any misunderstandings. In the end, Dick had smiled and said, "How bad can the press really be?"

Considering the way every member of the press in attendance had jumped on him when he entered the ballroom, Bruce wondered if Dick regretted his decision now.

"When you say, 'get some space'…?" Clark started with an unsure voice.

Bruce quickly picked up on what the other man was getting at. "I mean get some space," he answered firmly. "The press hasn't left him alone since he came down to the party. He's probably in another part of the Manor trying to relax."

Bruce watched as Clark's eyes scanned the Manor with his X-ray vision. "He's on the floor above us in the opposite wing," Clark murmured as he concentrated on the boy. "He's…standing upside down? In the air?"

Bruce looked at Clark skeptically.  _What is he talking about?…Oh._  "Come on, it'll be easier if I show you." Bruce knew Clark wouldn't believe him if he told the reporter about Dick's abilities. Hell, Bruce had seen them himself, and he still had a hard time understanding what he was seeing half the time.

Bruce and Clark made a discreet exit from the ballroom and made their way unhurried to Dick's acrobatics room. The room had some new additions: uneven bars, parallel bars, and a chalk bucket, among other things. Dick hadn't asked for them, except for the chalk, which was apparently a requirement for doing most gymnastic or acrobatic exercises. He'd been telling Bruce stories about his routines and training and had mentioned using the bars. Considering the happiness in Dick's voice talking about them, Bruce didn't understand how Dick could be surprised to see the new equipment in the room two days later.

Dick was currently on the parallel bars, his movements well-timed and coordinated. It seemed so simple when you were watching Dick perform, but Bruce knew it was anything but. Bruce let his ward finish the current part of his routine before knocking on the open door when Dick was "resting" in a completely straight handstand.

* * *

Dick's arms strained to keep him in a static high hip tuck. When his arms started shaking, he swung down and started another routine. His normally graceful movements were stiff and agitated. Dick felt his right wrist give a little on his next landing. He'd sprained his wrists often enough to know this wasn't a sprain, so he kept going. He had to or his mind would get caught up in all the things the reporters had said at Bruce's gala-thingy.

Dick almost snarled at the memory. They had been heartless, soulless…jerks! They'd all but swarmed Dick since the moment they'd realized he was at Bruce's charity event. Bruce had tried to stay close, but at some point they'd been separated. The barrage of questions never seemed to stop. Some of the press just came right out with their questions. Dick liked those ones best, even if their questions were rude and harsh. But the ones that pathetically tried to befriend him were worse. They would act all nice to get on Dick's good side, then ask him questions that hit far too close to his heart.

When one of the reporters had asked him what it felt like to hold his parents' broken, bleeding bodies in his arms, Dick had had to flee the party. It had been a struggle to come to his acrobatics room rather than to relieve his stress with a blade in his bathroom.

Dick hadn't thought much of cutting for the last week or so. Despite the persistency of the bullies at school and the continued fruitlessness of his nightly search for Zucco, Dick's life had been pretty together lately. And that was mostly because of Bruce, Dick knew. The man had saved Dick from the darkness, from a present and a future he didn't understand.

But every time things became difficult, every time Dick was pulled into the darkness in his head, it all got confusing. His forearms would itch, his mind would get lost in the chaos,…and a small part of him still clung to the safety of Nikolai. Even though the older boy was no longer a part of Dick's life, even though Dick knew that Nikolai had hurt him time and again.

_At least Nikolai kept the other boys away from me outside of challenges._ He _never let them attack me the way those reporters did._

_Shut up! Bruce didn_ ' _t make me do this. He gave me a choice._ Dick tried to remember Bruce's words from when he first came to the Manor.  _Nikolai was cruel. He beat me. Bruce is nice. He helps me._

Dick swung himself up into a double flip, trying to lose himself in the feeling of defying gravity, if only for a moment. He landed the flip and turned himself up into a handstand, keeping his arms and legs completely straight. Before his muscles started to shake, there was a knock on the door.

Dick looked up without shifting from his handstand. Bruce stood at the door, still dressed in his black suit. There was a man beside him, also in a suit but this one blue, that Dick recognized. Clark Kent. The man Bruce was talking to that night that Dick almost died. Dick grimaced at the memory and the sight of this man. He knew the truth of the matter now, but it was still embedded in his mind as a bad memory.

Dick dropped out of his handstand and dismounted with a simple double tuck. Glancing up at Bruce, Dick rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry I left your party thing, Bruce. I just…I had to get out of there for a bit." Dick frowned heavily when he recalled why that was. He now fully understood why Bruce didn't like the press.

"It's fine, Dick," Bruce assured with a gentle smile. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay now." He entered the room and approached Dick, leaving the other man looking unsure in the doorway. "You don't have to come back down. You can stay in here all night if you want to."

Dick grabbed a towel off the table against the wall and rubbed the sweat off his forehead. "I just…I didn't expect it'd be so hard.… The questions they were asking…" Dick trailed off with an angry scowl on his face and in his voice.  _Why_ ' _d they have to be so cruel?_

"I know," Bruce sighed. "This is why I didn't want to let them near you. But the press should back off after tonight. If not, I'll make sure of it."

Dick smiled at Bruce's protective tone. That smile mostly disappeared though when Dick's gaze trailed back to the man in the doorway. "So uh…" Dick couldn't think of a polite way to ask why Bruce had brought this stranger to Dick's acrobatics room.

Bruce seemed to realize what Dick was thinking because he said, "Dick, you remember my friend Clark Kent, right?"

Dick gave a jerky nod.

"Friend, Bruce?" the reporter asked teasingly, despite his obvious nervousness.

"Shut it, Kent," Bruce replied in a hard voice that made Dick smile.

_Yeah, these two are obviously close_ , Dick thought, slowly warming up to the other man. If Bruce was friends with him, how bad could he be?

Turning to Dick and softening his voice in a way that made Clark smile, Bruce continued, "Clark here wanted to meet you. He was concerned when he didn't see you at the party."

Clark took that as his cue and walked up to Dick with his hand outstretched. "It's nice to finally meet you, Richard."

Dick shook the man's hand. "Call me Dick," he said with a small smile.

Suddenly, the crackle of static filled the room, followed by a serious female voice. " _There_ ' _s been a 10-48 at Ace Chemical Processing Plant. All nearest units please report._ "

Dick's eyes were wide in apprehension, staring at the clothes locker that currently held his suit from the party and the police radio he'd stolen off Barbara's dad earlier tonight at the event. He'd taken the radio so that he'd know if the police found anything new in their search for Tony Zucco.  _Why_ ' _d it have to go off now?_  Dread and anxiety coiled in his gut.

Cringing slightly, he turned to Bruce, who quite clearly knew where the sound was coming from. He stalked over to the lockers and pulled the radio out of one of Dick's suit pockets. Bruce held it up for Dick to see. "Mind telling me where you got this, Richard?"

Dick winced. His parents had only called him Richard when he was in a lot of trouble, like letting-the-elephants-out-to-play-after-dark kind of trouble. "I may have…borrowed it from Mr. Gordon earlier," Dick answered weakly.

"Richard! You will return the radio to Mr. Gordon this instant." He glanced over at Kent, who was watching the whole event with a strange look on his face. Turning his gaze back to Dick, he continued, "Then go to your room. We'll talk about this later."

Dick winced again. But it wasn't Bruce's anger that had his gut twisting and his throat closing up. It was the disappointment in his eyes. Bruce had done so much for Dick, and now…

Dick hurried into the changing room and put his suit back on before returning to Bruce and the radio the man thrust into his hands with a stern look. Dick held the radio nervously in both hands and began walking out of the room in a dread-filled shuffle. Bruce's hand soon took a firm position on his back to keep him moving. Dick could barely hear Kent's steps behind them over his pounding heart.

The walk back to the ballroom seemed to take forever and no time at all to Dick. When Bruce opened the door and revealed the dozens of guests blissfully unaware of Dick's plight, Dick paused. Bruce's hand quickly had him moving forward again, though, ushering Dick to where he saw Gordon in the crowd.

Before they reached him, though, an obnoxious, nasally laugh took over the room, and Bruce's hand left Dick's back, causing Dick to come to a stop. He nervously looked up and saw one of the angriest looks he'd ever seen on Bruce's face. His whole body seemed stiff, and his hands were balled into fists. His eyes were narrowed in a nasty glare that made Dick shrink away. But Bruce's anger wasn't directed at Dick.

No, he was staring at a short, portly man with a long, pointy nose. He wore a black tux with coat tails, white gloves, and a top hat. He had a monocle in one eye and was leaning on a black umbrella. He was talking loudly and obnoxiously to several people who looked like they would give anything to get away from him.

Just then, the man looked up and caught sight of Bruce. "Wayne! How nice of you to throw this lovely party," he started in his nasal, obnoxious voice. People were stopping their conversations and turning to stare. "I'm afraid my invitation got lost in the mail. But don't worry, I got your butler to let me in." The man walked towards Dick and Bruce arrogantly.

The hairs on the back of Dick's neck stood up, and he got a bad feeling in his gut. The man didn't look all that impressive, but Dick's instincts were screaming at him that he was dangerous. Dangerous in a different way than Jacob Kane or any of the bullies at school were dangerous. Dangerous in a different way than any of the boys at Mini Arkham were dangerous. Dangerous in a different way than even Nikolai was dangerous. From Bruce's reaction, he knew that his instincts were right.

Dick's mind was already unsettled from the reporters earlier, and his stomach was still knotted with anxiety from Bruce's discovery of the radio that he still held in his hands. Now this new danger had him perilously close to the edge. Of what, he didn't know.

"Oh, and who is this, Wayne?" the man asked snobbishly, his eyes turning to Dick.

A shiver rolled down Dick's spine at the cold look in his eyes. Dick placed the radio in his suit jacket pocket, instincts telling him he wanted his hands free.

Before Bruce could step in front of Dick, before Dick had time to react, the man shot out his umbrella and snagged Dick by his arm. Dick was pulled off balance, and when he had both his feet under him again, the man had his hands wrapped firmly around Dick's arms, holding him in place. Dick struggled, testing the man's hold, but Dick wasn't going anywhere. The man's fingers were talons digging into his surged through Dick's veins, and his breathing quickened. He felt powerless, and he hated that feeling.

Dick looked up at Bruce and saw fear…no, worry…mixed with the fury in Bruce's eyes. Of course it wasn't fear. Bruce couldn't be afraid. But even that worry had Dick's heart in his throat. If Bruce was worried, then what did that mean for Dick?

Dick's eyes flitted around, trying to figure out the situation. Everybody was watching now, silent as the dead. Bruce's friend was standing behind him, looking concerned and angry. Gordon was standing a little way off, hand moving surreptitiously towards the gun under his suit jacket.

"What a pretty boy you have here, Wayne," the man said, grabbing Dick's left shoulder tightly.

The name and the oh so familiar pain spiked memories of Nikolai that had blood rushing loudly in Dick's ears. When the man moved his other hand and gripped the nape of Dick's neck, just as Nikolai had done so many times, he snapped.

Dick stomped on the man's instep. The man released him with a surprised, pained shout. Dick spun around and kicked the man hard in the knee he had lifted to cradle his foot. The man fell to the ground. Dick jumped on him with a horrible snarl but only got in three punches before Bruce pulled him off and Gordon had the man in cuffs.

Dick fought against Bruce's hold, long-embedded instincts from Mini Arkham telling him to fight his opponent until the other couldn't move or fight back, but Bruce held him too tightly. When Gordon had the man out of the room, Dick finally quit his struggles. Looking around, he took in the shocked and horrified looks Bruce's guests were giving him. A weird feeling developed in the pit of Dick's stomach at their looks.

Bruce moved his hand to the small of Dick's back and pushed him towards the door they had entered through earlier. While they walked, he said quickly and quietly, "Dick, go to your room and stay there. I have to take care of this situation before it gets out of hand."

Dick didn't have a chance to ask what he meant before Bruce had him out of the room and the doors closing behind Dick. Dick stared at them for a minute before turning and walking swiftly to his room, his mind reeling in confusion and muddled emotions.

Dick didn't understand what had just happened. Dick knew that Bruce had been angry at that man at the party and worried about Dick. But once Bruce pulled Dick off the man, Bruce had been upset in an entirely different way that Dick couldn't understand.

Was he angry with Dick? Disappointed in him? Bruce had certainly told him plenty of times that he wasn't allowed to fight.

But surely this was an exception! That man had been dangerous. Dick's instincts and the look on Bruce's face had been sure of it. Truthfully, Dick couldn't explain why he snapped. But Bruce seriously couldn't blame him for defending himself from that man.

Maybe he was angry because Dick had done it in front of all those 'high society' people and the press. Maybe he hadn't wanted them to see Dick act like that. Maybe Bruce wanted them to think Dick was a perfect little kid. And Dick had just blown that judging by the looks on Bruce's guests' faces.

It could be the radio Dick had taken earlier. Was Bruce really that mad that he took it? Dick hadn't thought much of it when he'd taken it off Gordon's belt clip. But Bruce's disappointment had made him think differently.

Maybe it was everything. Everything about Dick. Everything Dick did. Everything that angered and upset Bruce.

Without remembering any of the trip there, Dick found himself in his bathroom, standing in front of the mirror and holding the one razor that had escaped Bruce's search when they got back from the hospital. Dick's head was buzzing. He raised the razor to his left forearm, hovering just over it. His eyes locked on those of his reflection.

_Bruce will be mad if I do this again. He made me promise not to._

_He won_ ' _t know. He_ ' _s not omniscient._

_He_ ' _ll check. He_ ' _ll know!_

_He_ ' _s already mad at you. What difference will this make? Just do it. You_ need _it!_

Dick's hand was shaking as it lowered, his mind reeling, conflicted and confused. The first bite of the razor into his flesh broke through all of that, leaving only the clarity that the pain gave him. His blood welled out of the new opening in his flesh and flowed down his arm. Dick embraced the mental relief, relished it.

" _We have a definite sighting of the fugitive Anthony Zucco at Dixon Docks. Be advised: he is armed and dangerous._ "

Dick's peace shattered as his mind keyed into the meaning of the words coming from the radio in his jacket pocket.

_Tony Zucco._

* * *

Bruce sighed heavily as he made his way up to Dick's room. It had taken him an aggravating forty-five minutes to deal with Gordon, convince his guests that everything was fine, explain that Dick was  _not_  in fact certifiable,  _hopefully_  have mitigated the damage the press and the gossiping elite would no doubt do, and get them all, including Clark, out of his house.

Bruce didn't really understand Dick's reaction or how he had managed to take down Cobblepot that way––other than that Cobblepot hadn't expected an eight-year-old to be able to do the things that Dick did. Bruce knew there had to have been something that had triggered Dick, something that was sure to be still bothering him. He wondered what Dick would have done if he hadn't pulled the boy off Cobblepot.

Bruce found Dick's door slightly ajar but still knocked before opening it. Dick was nowhere to be seen. Bruce registered the crumpled suit on the bed and the open window in the back of his mind.

The rest of him, though, was focused on the light coming from the bathroom.  _Please, no, not again._ Bruce rushed into the room, his eyes scanning for Dick. He didn't find the boy, but he did find a razor in a puddle of blood in the sink. It took his panicked mind a moment to realize there wasn't nearly enough blood in the sink to warrant real panic.

Bruce spun in a circle, trying to find any clue to where Dick went. Nothing. He ran back into the bedroom. The open window now had his full attention. Looking out, he saw the Bat-Signal high in the sky. A sinking feeling took over his stomach.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! Life got in the way.

"Jim," Batman greeted from the shadows of the Gotham PD rooftop. He hid his impatience well, wanting nothing more than to get out of here and find Dick. His gut told him something bad was going down. And every good detective knew to trust their gut. But he had to find out what Jim Gordon wanted first.

Jim turned around to face Batman, barely startling in surprise this time. "Batman," he nodded. "There's been a break in that case you asked me to look into. The Zucco one. He's been sighted at Dixon Docks."

Bruce stiffened imperceptibly. Zucco had finally surfaced, and Dick was currently missing.  _He still has the police radio_ , Bruce remembered with a flash of apprehension. Dick hadn't had a chance to give it back because of Penguin's appearance.  _Oh, you stupid boy._  If Dick had found out about Zucco, he'd no doubt be headed there right now. Dick was going to get himself killed.

* * *

Dick crept along a catwalk in the warehouse he had tracked Zucco to at Dixon Docks. His sneakers made almost no sound on the metal frame as he made his way towards Zucco's location at the center of the building. Three bulky men, guys that looked like they came right out of a mafia movie, stood in front of Dick's target. They wore the black trench coats, the bolo hats, and everything.

Zucco looked the same as he always did in Dick's nightmares. He was tall and thin, and he wore a black pinstripe suit. His dark hair receded slightly on his forehead and grayed around the edges. The black goatee cast a frightening shadow on his already sharp features. His black eyes seemed to suck the light out of the very air around him.

Dick shuddered in anger and fright, not sure which had the tighter hold on his heart but determined to do what he came here to do nonetheless.

When Dick stood right over the four men, maybe thirty feet up, he crouched down and strained his ears to hear what they were saying. Zucco was speaking quietly, so he only caught a couple of words, but it was enough to know they were planning a hit on someone.

Dick's anger boiled dangerously close to the "murderous" category, his fear all but forgotten. After everything this man had done to Dick, after all the trauma he had inflicted on him, after all the crushing pain and debilitating grief he had caused the small boy, Zucco was going to do the same to another person.

_When does it stop?_  Dick wondered in a seething daze.  _When will innocent people be safe from scum like Zucco?_

Dick didn't have the answers to his questions. One thing was clear, though: Tony Zucco had to be stopped. And since no one else was willing to do anything, it would have to be Dick that stopped him.

Dick looked around the warehouse catwalk that he stood on to find anything he could use. It was surprisingly tidy. There were ropes and chains hanging from the ceiling at periodic intervals like they were used for something when the warehouse was operating during the day. There were several loose tools scattered in the dirt and sawdust on the ground. Everything else must have been in the metal and wooden crates that were stacked against the walls of the warehouse.

Dick moved carefully towards the crates on the nearest wall, barely moving his eyes from the three men below him. As soundlessly as he could, Dick opened the lids on the crates and looked through their contents. He found some metal tools––hammers, wrenches, and the like––as well as long stretches of rope and bags of concrete. Dick grabbed things he might need as he went through the crates, trading some items as he went along.

As quietly as he could manage, Dick dragged a large bag of concrete out of one of the crates and over to the portion of the catwalk that was above the four men. He tipped part of the bag over the edge of the catwalk, keeping a tight hold on the rest of the bag so its weight didn't drag it over. Using a small knife with a three-inch blade, Dick cut a hole into the part of the bag hanging over the four criminals. The concrete powder poured out of the bag and down to the ground, where it created a thick, white cloud around the men. Shouts of surprise reached Dick's ears.

Dick paused for a short moment, his heart pounding in his chest and his breath hitching in fear, anger, and anticipation. Then, with all necessary haste, Dick climbed up onto the railing and leapt for one of the ropes hanging on a pulley from the ceiling. He dropped quickly, the skin on his hands ripping in the process. He landed on his feet, the speedy impact jarring his small frame. Without taking time to adjust, Dick pulled the hammer out of the waistline of his pants and pushed himself forward into the cloud of concrete powder.

When his instincts and the noise warned him that there was a large person in front of him, Dick swung the hammer, his anger guiding the swing. A satisfying scream of pain echoed in the large warehouse, almost completely blocking out the  _thump_  of a body hitting the ground in front of Dick. An angry growl sounded behind Dick, followed by an arm swinging in a punch just over Dick's head. The other men clearly thought they were dealing with someone larger than an eight-year-old boy.

Dick spun around and kicked out, his foot merely grazing the unseen enemy. Unfortunately, that failed attack alerted his opponent to his whereabouts. Something, likely a foot or a fist, landed a solid blow to Dick's head.

He flew back from the impact and used his acrobatics to make a sloppy landing that only made his now dizzy head hurt all the worse. Dick forced his ringing ears to pick up any sounds, his blurry eyes to focus on anything that became visible within the dissipating cloud.

Hearing someone breathing to his right, Dick lunged that way and, with a snarl crawling out of his throat, swung the hammer. The weapon hit only air, but the lunge had brought Dick close enough to now see the much larger man in front of him. Unfortunately, that also meant that the man could see Dick. He wasted no time being surprised they were being attacked by a kid and made a grab for Dick. The boy bent backwards into a bridge to avoid the man's hands and kicked up into a handstand, hitting the man in the chest with his feet as he flipped his body heels over head to land on his feet again.

He stumbled on the landing, falling back against the thick body of another enemy. Dick spun around, his hammer already spinning, only for a black-gloved hand to grab the weapon. The boy looked up, his eyes meeting the white lenses of Batman's cowl through the now mostly clear air. The moment lasted only a second before Batman shoved him away from where three men stood grouped together ten feet away. The fourth man, clutching shakily at his thigh, was still on the ground a few feet away.

Without a backwards glance at the child, Batman called out in a familiar voice, "Dick, get out of here!"

* * *

Two thugs stood slightly in front of Zucco, and another lay on the ground a short distance away. All four men were armed. And somehow Dick had gotten it in his head that he could take them on all by himself.

_My kid is insane,_  Bruce growled exasperatedly.

Although, he had to admit, it was impressive that the small boy had managed to take out one of the thugs and avoid getting killed for as long as he had. The almost animalistic ferocity with which Dick had been attacking was worrisome, though. Bruce feared what the child would have done if he had had Zucco at his mercy.

Sensing more than seeing one of the thugs reaching for his gun, Batman threw a volley of batarangs at the men. Batman used the distraction to lunge closer to the criminals. His first punch landed solidly on the left thug, and then he had to dodge to the side as the other one started shooting. The fight was on at that point, pulling all of Bruce's attention. He attacked and blocked, dodged and struck. The thugs were not trained assassins, but their trigger happiness—and Bruce's worry about Dick's whereabouts—caused Batman enough problems that he almost lost sight of Zucco making a break for the warehouse door. An explosive batarang blocked off the entrance, causing Zucco to change paths.

Deciding that he was done dealing with the thugs, Batman launched a flash-bomb batarang that went off between the two men, causing them both to shout in pain and drop their weapons. Batman punched them both out, quickly zip-stripped the men's hands.

And then he was chasing after Zucco, who had climbed the steps to the catwalk, probably looking for another way out. Batman grappled up in front of the criminal, blocking his path.

Zucco backed away, eyes wide in fear and hand reaching for his gun. "C'mon, man, we weren't doin' nothin'. The kid attacked us." His voice wavered. The criminal backed into the rusty railing, still pressing back as his hand finally clutched onto the gun.

Three things happened at once. Zucco pulled the semi-automatic up, his finger closing on the trigger. Batman threw a batarang at the man's temple to knock him out. And the railing collapsed beneath Zucco, sending the criminal falling back into open air.

Bullets ricocheted off the ceiling. The batarang flew through the spot Zucco had occupied moments earlier. And Zucco cried out in fright as he fell with increasing speed towards the unforgiving ground.

And then Dick, who must have chased after Zucco onto the catwalk, was swinging on a rope hanging from the ceiling. One arm released from the rope to grab Zucco by collar of his shirt. Dick shouted in pain from the sudden addition of weight on his shoulder. The two crashed haphazardly onto the ground in a tangle of limbs, Zucco's gun going off again. Dick screamed in pain. Whether from the landing or the gun, Bruce didn't know.

Batman quickly made his way down with his grapple and had Zucco tied up before the man so much as twitched. Bruce then turned to Dick, the boy unconscious in a growing pool of blood. Bruce's heart leapt into his throat, the thought  _'Not again'_  echoing in his mind for the second time that night.

Bruce carefully picked him up, cradling the small body to his chest as he rushed towards the Batmobile waiting just outside. Once he had the boy safely belted into the passenger's seat, Bruce set the vehicle on autopilot at top speed towards the Batcave. He quickly sent out a signal to the police, alerting them of Zucco's whereabouts. A talk with Gordon would have to wait until Bruce knew the condition of his son.

With everything else now taken care of, Bruce turned to Dick to try to assess his situation. He wanted to be concerned about the substantial bruise already forming on the right side of Dick's face. He wanted to be concerned about the concussion the blow almost certainly would have given the boy. He wanted to be concerned about what he thought was a dislocated left shoulder acquired from grabbing the heavy weight of Anthony Zucco out of midair.

But the only thing he could focus on was the heavily bleeding bullet wound in Dick's left bicep. Bruce immediately put pressure on the wound and raised the arm above chest level, a relieved part of him noting that it was a graze, so there was no bullet lodged in his son. He quickly tore a piece of his cape off and wrapped the injury as a temporary bandage, his hand returning to keep up pressure. His eyes had already been monitoring Dick's breathing, and he deemed the boy safe from respiratory problems. His free hand went to Dick's neck, allowing him to let out a sigh of relief when he found the pulse swift but strong. A quick feel of his forehead said his temperature was high but not as much of a concern as it could be.

Having done what he could for Dick, Bruce turned on the communications to contact Alfred. The man, bless him, answered almost immediately. Bruce didn't wait for the butler to start his usual (and often sarcastic) pleasantries. "Alfred, call Leslie. Tell her to get to the Cave immediately."

The older man didn't miss a beat. "And what shall I tell her you've done to yourself this time?" Alfred asked, the formal tone barely concealing his worry.

"Not me," Bruce responded, the fear and anxiety leaking into his words. "Dick."

* * *

The first thing Dick noticed was the cold. Not like the air conditioning was on. More like being outside on a cold night. Even that wasn't a good comparison. This cold was different, even if the drafty air did remind him of the wind. The closest thing Dick could relate it to was the time he'd gone to those underground tunnels with his parents when the circus stopped in Germany. But this felt bigger than the tunnels. Cavernous, somehow.

The next thing to reach his foggy awareness was the smell of antiseptic.  _Hospital_ , Dick's sluggish mind supplied. He discarded the thought. Hospitals and underground tunnels were two very different things.

A pinching sensation was the next to be recognized. Several actually. They were coming from his hands and lower arms. He'd felt these before but couldn't place them now. There was another sensation, unfamiliar, coming from his left bicep. This one was more of a pressure than a pinch. Farther up the same arm, at the shoulder, he noticed a dulled burning. His arm was immobilized in some kind of padded fabric sling with his arm bent at the elbow and held out at his side, perpendicular to his body. Something thick and heavy was pressed against the upper right portion of his face, above the eye. The edges of it were tight and pulled at his skin.

Awareness crept in, and with it came the nausea, the dizziness, the weakness. His whole body felt damp and hot. The sheets under him were damp with sweat as well. That's when he realized he was in a bed. A cot, actually. The pinching sensations were the IVs and other medical paraphernalia Dick was too acquainted with for his eight years of age. One of them had to be some kind of pain medication, Dick guessed. His brain was too fuzzy and the pain was too dull for him not to be hooked up to some kind of drugs. An ice pack felt heavy on his hurt shoulder.

Unsure of how he got here, wherever here was, Dick decided it was time to open his eyes. He immediately regretted that decision when the lights above him burned into his retinas and spiked his headache higher than the pain medication could handle. He almost vomited on the spot from the pain and nausea.

Slowly, he opened his eyes again, keeping them narrowed to slits to keep out the bright lights. The lights were hanging on horizontal metal poles at ceiling height. Except there was no ceiling there. Far up beyond the glare of the lights, Dick could make out some kind of rock roof.

Dick turned his head to look at his surroundings, wincing in pain as the movement pulled on his shoulder. He was in what seemed to be a sectioned off area in a larger…cave? It was hard to tell. White walls came out of the rock floor and ended at a point Dick estimated was the height of a normal ceiling. Crossing in parallel lines from the right to the left wall at ceiling height were the metal poles that the lights hung from. Against the walls on either side were rows of upper and lower cabinets, all in white. Counters filled with medical supplies made up the tops of the lower cabinets. Dick's own white cot was in the center of the room, the necessary medical equipment gathered around it.

"You're awake."

Dick looked up to the doorway in the wall across from him to see the imposing figure of Batman, his black outfit a stark contrast to the white room. "Did we get him? Is Zucco in jail?"  _Did my parents finally get their justice?_

A long pause.

Then… "Yes. Commissioner Gordon processed Anthony Zucco himself."

A breath Dick didn't know he was holding escaped in a great sigh. Of release. Of happiness. Of relief. "Good."

Another pause.

"Why didn't you let him die?"

Dick's head shot up from where it had fallen to rest on his chest.  _What?_ The question had been blunt. Neither approving nor condemning. Dick didn't know what to make of it.

There was no change in Batman's countenance. His voice remained flat. "He killed your parents."

Dick flinched at the blunt words.

"I thought you wanted justice."

"I do––did. He's in jail now. He got what he deserved." Dick's words were uncertain, confused. The implications of Batman's words just didn't fit with what he thought he'd heard about the man.

There was a long, tense pause before Batman finally nodded. In acceptance or approval, Dick couldn't tell.

With a subtle change in demeanor, Batman shifted the conversation. "How do you feel?"

Dick focused on the pain in his body, barely holding back a whimper as it flooded his mind. Going for nonchalant, his reply came out more breathy and tight. "Like I lost a fight with a steamroller."

"You have multiple lacerations, a dislocated shoulder, a concussion, and a bullet wound to name just a few of your injuries." A short, loaded pause. "Your actions were stupid, and you needlessly endangered yourself. What were you thinking going after a man like Zucco by yourself? I told you to leave Zucco to myself and the police."

"But you weren't doing anything!" Dick shouted, trying to get off the cot to stand. His head hurt and his vision spun from the energy it took to do both, but he angrily pushed off Batman's hands when the man tried to keep him back into the bed. Dick shook from the exhaustion of merely standing and had to hold himself up by gripping the bed with his good arm, but it didn't stop him from defending his actions. "It's been months––months!––since my parents were murdered." His voice faltered here but quickly picked up again. "Tony Zucco was still running around free, and no one was doing anything about it! I had to do it myself. Besides, I had a right to bring my parents' killer to justice."

Dick took a deep breath. His legs still wobbled, and his head still pounded in time with his heart. He didn't know if it was the concussion dictating his words now, but he soldiered on, nonetheless. "I thought you of all people would understand that." It was only because he was looking for it that he was able to see the slight widening of the man's eyes. Dick made a show of looking around at his surroundings. "So, Bruce, is this what you're hiding behind that grandfather clock in your study?"

Truth be told, Dick wasn't at all sure about the grandfather clock. In fact, he wasn't even sure about Bruce being Batman. That may have just been the concussion speaking. But everything fit, now that Dick had all the clues. And the clock was just a guess. This…cave…could have been hidden behind the bookcase or even a trapdoor in the floor, really. All Dick knew was that he had been able to track Bruce to his study on those nights that Bruce had disappeared, but no farther. And if Bruce really was Batman, then the entrance to his base had to be in that room. So yeah, the grandfather clock was just a leap, a hunch, but from the tightening of Bruce's stance, Dick had hit the mark with it.

"What gave me away?" was the only question to come back to him.

"Oh," Dick smiled, "a lot of things, in retrospect. Nothing I managed to put together at the time, of course. The real clue was you screaming 'Dick, get out of here' without disguising your voice."

Batman's lips twisted in displeasure before he pulled back the cowl, revealing Bruce underneath. A long moment of silence followed. "You really should get back in bed. You were heavily injured last night."

_Last night? How long have I been asleep?_ "I'm fine," Dick insisted, his body steadying as he forced himself to focus. Using the bed as a crutch didn't hurt either. "I've been in enough hospital beds for a while."

Bruce didn't smile at his joke but moved forward to disconnect the IV lines from Dicks arms.

Dick took an unsteady step forward. Then another one. He was moving towards the door, Bruce hovering nearby to make sure he didn't fall but otherwise letting him make this decision for himself. When Dick reached the open doorway, he stopped, stunned.

Beyond the walls of the medical room extended a much larger space than Dick had imagined. The cave spanned multiple floors with variously designated areas and all different kinds of equipment. There was what looked like a state of the art crime lab, a garage, a boat dock, a helicopter/airplane hangar, and a fully equipped gym. One room even had a massive penny, a giant playing card, and a life-size T-Rex, among other things.

"What do you call this place?" Dick asked, his curious gaze taking everything in.

"I never thought to give it a name," Bruce admitted, "but Alfred calls it the Batcave."

Dick thought he did a great job at holding in the giggle that burst up his throat. His eyes landing on the giant computer that took up a good portion of this floor of the cave, he teased, "So is that the Bat-computer?" Bruce didn't have obvious tells, like blushing or looking away, but Dick knew his joke had hit the mark by the tightening of Bruce's lips and the narrowing of his eyes. This time Dick couldn't hold back the laugh. "Oh my god, it is!"

"Alfred calls it that, not me," Bruce replied, voice tense.

Dick tried to calm the giggles but didn't quite manage it. After a long moment, Bruce joined in, chuckling softly.

As his laughter calmed, Dick's eyes landed on the costume cases in the room next to the computer. He carefully made his way over, Bruce hovering nearby at every little stumble or gasp of pain. There were a handful of cases, each one holding one of Batman's suits. They were all styled differently. Some were probably designed for specific purposes; others were clearly older, retired, or heavily damaged suits. Dick walked up to the closest one––grey instead of black for the body of the suit; a slightly bulky, yellow utility belt; long, pointy ears; heavier boots; and a much longer cape. Dick reached up with his good arm and laid his hand, fingers spread, on the glass over the design of the bat on the retired costume's chest.

"I want to help."

The words were soft. They left the boy's mouth and traveled to Bruce's ears. But they refused to go any farther. He couldn't find a way to order the words so that they made sense.

"Help with what?" he asked, even though he thought he knew where this was going. Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach.

Dick turned around to stare Bruce in the eye. His gaze was firm, unwavering. His voice was much the same. "I want to help you." When Bruce gave no reaction, he clarified, "As Batman."

"No."

"I can help!" Dick insisted, only getting more determined in the face of Bruce's resistance.

"You almost died tonight facing a couple of  _thugs_. If I hadn't shown up, your body would have been dumped in the river and washed out to sea." The words were cold, hard. Bruce was trying very hard to not think about how true those words were. He hated saying them. Hated so much as thinking them. But Dick had to understand how serious this was.

"Then train me. I can learn. I can help." Dick refused to relent. "I want to help!"

"Why?" Bruce shouted angrily. He took a breath to calm himself when he saw Dick take a step back––in shock or fear, Bruce didn't know. He continued in a subdued tone, "This isn't the life I want for you Dick. I had no choice. The moment my parents were killed, the moment the police stopped looking for their killer, I was set on a collision course with this life." Bruce knelt down and took Dick by the shoulders. He stared into the young child's eyes, trying to make the words mean something to Dick. "But you've gotten your justice. You can move on now. Don't you see? You don't have to live this life, Dick." The words were nearly whispered in Bruce's intensity.  _I just don't get it. His parents' killer is in jail. He's found the peace I've never been able to claim. Why would he want to subject himself to this life?_

Bruce felt Dick's shoulders pull back, his stance firming under Bruce's hands. The boy's chin lifted, and his eyes hardened with resolve. "But I want to. I want to help people, Bruce. Those men were planning on killing someone tonight, and I stopped them. We stopped them. There are people out there who deserve to live happy, carefree lives. People who can't do anything to save themselves when a criminal walks out of the shadows. There are little boys who should never have to know what it means to lose their parents. Someone needs to protect them."

"That's my job. Not yours."

"But you can't do it all. You can't save everyone."

"And you think you can?"  _Why can't I make him see that this isn't what he really wants?_

"No, but maybe we can save twice as many if we work together."

"This isn't a game, Dick. It's a war."

"And tonight we won the battle," Dick gave as a rejoinder, his eyes still alight and determined with this new fixation. "We can do it again, Bruce. We can fight together, stop the bad guys, save people."

Bruce stood up abruptly. "The answer is no." The words were hard and cold, his gaze unyielding.

Dick wasn't deterred. If anything, his chin lifted higher as he countered, "Then I'll go out there without you and probably die a horrible death." Bruce internally flinched at that. Dick didn't even pause. "Either you train me, or I go out alone."

The silence stretched out into eternity.

Bruce's fury clogged the air.

Dick all but trembled as he waited for an answer.

Finally, it came.

"You will follow my every command to the letter. You will not act without my say-so. If I say something is too dangerous, then it's too dangerous. I don't care if it's pulling a fluffy bunny out of a pillow factory." Bruce didn't get any farther before he was hugged as tight as an eight-year-old with a recently dislocated shoulder could hug a person.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Dick was beyond excited, barely coherent in his joy. "You won't regret this!"

_I already do._  Bruce pushed Dick out to arm's length, needing to look the boy in the eye, needing to make sure he understood what Bruce was saying. "I decide when you're ready, not you. I will personally train you. It will take months, and it won't be easy. I won't hold back because the criminals won't hold back. I will push you to your limits and then beyond them."

"That's fine. Whatever it takes." Dick's eyes were bright with excitement, determination shining in the backs of them.

Finally, Bruce let out the smallest of smiles. Despite his vast reservations, Dick's excitement was infectious.  _I can protect him_ , Bruce promised himself.  _I can._ "You'll need a name."

Dick's smile stretched from ear to ear. "I'll think of something."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! The moment we've all been waiting for!


	16. Epilogue

Miles away, the sun was disappearing behind the horizon, throwing the city of Gotham into deep shadows. The dark night sky chased the bright orange sun away, claiming the city for itself. Months ago, the thought might have sent a chill down Dick's spine. Now he took comfort in it. And that was his whole reason behind coming up here one the roof, wasn't it? To find a sense of calm after everything.

For weeks now––months really––Dick had been forced to relive every horror-filled moment since his parents' deaths. No matter how many heart-wrenching questions he answered, there were always more to follow. Question after question after question.

And it wasn't just that they wanted answers, wanted information. They wanted to tear him down, too. Prove that he wasn't a "credible witness." Discredit him as a human being, even. Or at least, that's what it felt like. It made him almost regret agreeing to help Bruce prosecute Mini Arkham for their inhuman treatment of the children there. Almost.… Maybe.

The trial had finally ended today, just hours earlier. A full-scale overhaul of the JDC's administrative system was going to take place, and many of the guards were going to individual trial for their actions and lack thereof. Bruce had been inordinately pleased. He hadn't been willing to settle for anything less.

Dick didn't know what he felt. He knew he was supposed to be happy, relieved, maybe even a little vindictive. In truth, he was just exhausted. He was glad the trials, the questions, the mass media were over. Maybe now things would finally quiet down, in the media and at Gotham Academy.

It wasn't so much the bullies now as it was the hype about the court case. The bullies had finally settled down a while back, a couple weeks after Dick moved up two grades. At first, it had gotten worse. Barbara had tried her best to keep them away from him, but she was only one person; she couldn't be there every second of every day.

And then one day Dick's most frequent bullies just stopped coming to school. Dick suspected Bruce, but he couldn't prove it. Whenever asked, all Bruce said was that they couldn't publicly act against the school, not with the prosecution of the JDC going on at the time. To speak against both would have weakened their case in either. The media would have made Dick out to be a petty little rich boy who was angry about his "ill-treatment." It wasn't really an answer to Dick's question, but he guessed that was as close a confirmation as he was likely to get out of Bruce. For all Dick knew, those bullies could have switched schools, changed city, or moved to Antarctica.

So, the bullies weren't really an issue anymore. What Dick did have to deal with was the other students repeating everything their parents thought back at him. Some were supportive, but most, being high society elitists, were appalled at "Bruce Wayne and his charity case" for disturbing the status quo in Gotham. Never mind that the status quo included allowing young children to beat each other near-to-death on a regular basis.

Dick had learned to grow a thick skin, to internally tell others to find a better use for the three brain cells inside their heads while externally thanking them for their opinions and walking away. Or at least, that's what Bruce and Alfred kept telling him to do. In truth, Dick had been practicing his Bat-glare on the students who thought to bother him. (Bruce had not been appreciative of the new term Dick and Alfred had come up with. Or any of the subsequent ones thereafter, including but not limited to the Bat-mobile, the Bat-bola, the Bat-communicator, and Dick's current favorite, the Bat-lock-pick.)

In the beginning, Alfred had completely disapproved of the agreement Bruce and Dick had come to. It had been nothing but "Master Wayne," and "Master Grayson" for weeks. Both Bruce and Dick had tried to explain it to him on multiple occasions but the old man had refused all their words. Eventually, Dick had decided to ambush Alfred.

He used every technique Bruce had taught him thus far and had been about to corner the butler in the library, when Alfred had merely stated without turning around, "If you would like to ask me something, Master Grayson, you need not do me physical harm." Dick had deflated at that, and Alfred had kindly asked Dick to take a seat. It had taken two hours of explaining his reasoning and everything he felt for Alfred to finally sigh, "I doubt I have any more chance of getting you to give up this quest than I did with Master Bruce."

Bruce's tutelage, as Dick had learned, was anything but easy. The man hadn't lied about pushing Dick beyond his limits. There were times when he just wanted to quit, to cry "I give up. You win." (He knew part of the reason Bruce pushed him so hard was because he wanted Dick to quit. He wanted the fledgling hero to realize that the vigilante life was just too hard for Dick.) But each time he thought of giving in, Dick remembered the sound of his Mom singing him a lullaby as he fell into sleep or his Dad teaching him to overcome his fear of the trapeze. He remembered that there were other little boys out there who had no idea what they could lose with the snap of a wire. And Dick soldiered on.

Bruce taught him stealth and detective skills, escape techniques, the art of disguise, tracking and survival methods, and basic mechanics. Bruce was also instructing him on how to operate the Bat-mobile (not that he ever got to drive it!), to drive his own motorcycle (so cool!), and even how to fly the Bat-jet (Bruce called it the Javelin).

Further, Dick studied all manner of fighting styles, including Tae Kwon Do, Judo, Muay Thai, Kickboxing, Karate, Boxing, Jujitsu, and Ninjutsu. Bruce knew over one hundred twenty-seven styles of fighting. And he was determined to teach them all to his young apprentice.

Dick also learned how to use all the gadgets in the utility belt Bruce insisted he keep on himself at all times. All times. (Dick's suggestion that Bruce was paranoid was met with a tight frown.) Bruce, despite his preference for unarmed combat, was a weapons master, and he insisted that Dick follow in his footsteps. That meant that, in addition to using all the gadgets in the belt, Dick had to become proficient in whatever weapon Bruce happened to give him on any particular day, whether it was swords, a bo staff, or a rusted pipe.

Additionally, he studied the arts of intimidation and interrogation, though Dick knew Bruce wasn't teaching him all there was on that front— _most likely saving it until I'm old enough to know he drops people from rooftops_ , Dick thought with a grim smile.

There was also mental training and stimulation. Bruce was currently teaching Dick eight new languages and fixing his understanding of the ones he already partially knew. He was also forcing Dick to learn far beyond his age in chemistry, biology, technology, mathematics, physics, mythology, philosophy, geography, and history. Dick frequently had to solve hard puzzles, sometimes just as a mental exercise and other times as a moral dilemma to determine what Dick should do in any given situation. "If you can predict the situation beforehand and make a decision about which actions to take, you won't have to waste precious time during a crisis to determine what needs to be done." That's what Bruce kept telling him.

Bruce also had Dick regularly train (in addition to his lessons) in everything from aerobics to weight lifting to gymnastics to simulated combat, both with Bruce and in computer simulations. There were also dietary restrictions to the vigilante life, Dick had learned and was not all that happy about. Alfred still slipped him deserts when he could, though.

It was all very different from the fighting he had done under Nikolai's watchful eyes. Dick could look back now, months and months after the fact, and see how messed up Nikolai had made him. How unhealthy his complete reliance on the older boy had been. He could look back and say that Bruce had been right. Nikolai had twisted his mind until he would have killed or died if Nikolai had so much as hinted at it. Just for the  _possibility_  of an approving glance from the older boy.

And even now, Dick wasn't sure what he would do if Nikolai demanded something, anything of him. If he saw the older boy now…

" _Go on, pretty boy. We'll see each other again."_

Part of Dick was hoping to see Nikolai again. To face him, get revenge, find some kind of closure. An entirely different part of Dick wanted to see Nikolai for very different reasons… And that scared him.

_Just look at how marked up I've become since I met him._  Dick's eyes fell to the scarred forearms that loosely hugged his raised knees to his chest. Most of the scars were turning white. Some were still a shiny pink. Two were in various stages of scabbing. Between Bruce and Alfred, Dick had been slowly stopping.

Some days were better than others.

It was hard. Cutting––the euphoria it gave him––were addictive. Dick didn't always want to stop. Sometimes he still felt like he needed the drag of the razor across his skin. Even when Dick refused to do it, even when he wasn't all that upset, the lure of the blade still called to him. Dick thought it might always be there, in the back of his mind. Maybe he'd just have to learn to live with it. To know that it'd always be there. But there were still things worth living for. There were better ways to deal with his pain.

Maybe that was another reason he had become Robin, named after his mother's nickname for him and bearing his parents' colors. He needed that reminder of happiness, of hope. And he wanted to be that for others.

Dick didn't think his parents would mind this new life he had chosen. Oh, they would be worried, that was for sure. But he thought, hoped really, they would be proud of the choice he had made, the path he had set himself upon.

A noise behind him alerted Dick to the presence of another entering his space.

_Try as you might, even Bat-stealth falls victim to the crunch of roofing tiles,_  Dick thought as he heard Bruce approach him quietly. He doubted it was that Bruce was really trying to sneak up on him. In the last several months, Dick had learned that many of Batman's qualities were just so much a part of Bruce that the man couldn't entirely separate the two (no matter how hard he tried at times).

"I thought I'd find you up here." Bruce sat down beside Dick, his legs outstretched and his arms holding most of his weight behind him. Together, they looked out at the darkening horizon. "Rough day?" Bruce asked, knowing the answer.

"Hopefully the last for a while," Dick prayed.

"Well, you know what tonight is, don't you?" Bruce asked, a half-proud, half-worried smile on his face.

Dick gave a full smile now. "Yeah."

Tonight was what Bruce called The Gauntlet. It was Dick's, or rather Robin's, final exam. One last test before he's allowed to go out on patrol as a crime-fighter. Once the sun fully sets behind the horizon, Dick will go down to the Bat-cave, change into his official Robin costume, and head to the city through the cave's tunnel system. He will have a six-hour head start… And then Batman will hunt him down and try to find him within the city limits. If Robin can make it until sunrise without being caught, he passes.

Dick was both a boiling mass of nervousness and calm as could be. He knew he could do it. He would succeed. This was what he'd been training for, right?

"Are you sure you're ready for this life, Dick?" Bruce asked, praying the boy—his son—would take what Bruce feared would be his last chance to escape the vigilante life. Bruce knew how hard it was to escape once it had its claws in you.

Dick looked up at his new father, his mind a tumble of old memories and new. He recalled everything that had happened recently. Watched in his mind's eye as every instant, big or small, led him to this moment. And then he remembered his mother's words just before their final performance, the question echoing Bruce's in his head.

" _Are you ready, my little Robin?" her melodic voice asked him._

"Yeah," he answered with a smile. "I think I am."

**Author's Note:**

> Keep your eyes and ears open for the sequel: "Robin's End." I should start posting it soon! Reviews are love! <3


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